January 16, 2005 | 9:18 p.m.
play with my hair and i'll be happy.

where were you when i was wanting a voice to talk hours on end, reading me theses on the sounds of shoes walking history. how seventy years spanned from booties back to moccasins, slipper stuffing soft enough to sleep on.

id have been the last student standing, just to tell you... sore, stomped out. her best black boots thrown by the door. the sounds were just so twenty-something.

addendum: were i to walk those streets again, id spy her footprints in the concrete, following every sidewalk leading to a lady.