MY Shoes Are Made For Walkin’

Here I stand, just ’round the corner from Lehman Brothers, waiting to meet some friends for happy hour. Fine–it has been a difficult, tumultuous few weeks, though does that grant people license to say and do whatever they feel when they don’t have anything to lose?

I am looking around, as not to miss my friends if they walk by and a much older, greasy, obviously married man stops to begin my next session of torture.

Greezy Plump Dude: Hey, you look lost.

Frankie: [Obviously not interested in ANYTHING] No, just waiting for friends, thanks.

Greezy Plump Dude: Do you think I could get your card?

Frankie: I don’t have a card. (I thought he would take a hint).

Greezy Plump Dude: Well, let me give you my card; will you contact me if I give you my card?

Frankie: My apologies, I am flattered, though I am seeing someone (Lying, to save myself).

Greezy Plump Dude: Oh, well, how old is he? How old are you?

Frankie: Twenty-eight; why?

Greezy Plump Dude: (Snickering) Well, perhaps I can take you shoe shopping?

Frankie: Sir, I need no one to take me shoe shopping. I am perfectly capable of paying my own bills, financing my own travel and shopping for my own shoes; watch as they walk away from you.

–Frankie