Cheap Chic(K)

Three times he walked past and three times the shop remained closed. The notice claimed opening hours to be 10 until 4. But it was a loose and flexible arrangement. That morning Anna arrived at 11.30 and unlocked the door at two minutes to noon having sat in the back room  drinking coffee and looking through a pile of old Vogues. He had seen the shoes on the previous evening. A magpie drawn by the sparkle. They were 15€. He bought a beer with the balance from his last twenty note. Sat in the corner of The Discreet Charm Hotel and observed human behaviour. The hotel was owned by Roy. Husband to Anna. His clientele mostly polyamorists. Roy a pinstriped jacketed satyr with a silver death's head bracelet on his wrist. He had seen the shoes and had taken a pic on his mobile. Sent a text out into the ether. Laid the phone on the table and lifted the glass to his lips whilst looking across the bar at the carnal wildlife.  In the night a reply came to his text. Someone prone to insomnia. I have no silver pantyhose to match those heels. I am cheap chic. He smiled. He had her foot in a shoe and her hand holding her ankle. It was a snapshot. A detail. Then an image flashed. She was leaning against the railings of a pier. Her legs long and thin in cut ups. As Anna wrapped the shoes in pink tissue she looked at him for a moment before reaching for the cello tape. Did you want to try them on first? He laughed. I stole these shoes, she continued in her gin doused gravelly voice - if the alcohol didn't kill her the  forty cigarettes a day would.   My husband has an hotel. More like a brothel. They belonged to a young woman he employed. I know they can't have been lovers. He can't get it up to get it on. I assume it was some kind of fetish play. Just another sugar daddy. I took the shoes from her room. At first I thought I would keep them in my wardrobe. Then I decided to put them in the window. She's stopped to look a couple of times. We never made eye contact. She was quite beautiful.  I keep wondering if it's his Faustian curled eyebrows that attracted her. He placed the shoes on the carpet and lay stretched out on the floor. He couldn't imagine Karamel Marshmallow wearing them. He thought he might leave them in a tree for birds to build a love nest in. His mobile buzzed. An incoming text. If the shoe fits. But sadly I'm a size up.  He lifted one of the shoes and looked at the 37 stamped on the sole. Angel of the ether. Ether eternal. He texted back.  The shop has a pair of white running shoes in your size. K is for...
Three times he walked past and three times the shop remained closed. The notice claimed opening hours to be 10 until 4. But it was a loose and flexible arrangement. That morning Anna arrived at 11.30 and unlocked the door at two minutes to noon having sat in the back room drinking coffee and looking through a pile of old Vogues.
He had seen the shoes on the previous evening. A magpie drawn by the sparkle. They were 15€. He bought a beer with the balance from his last twenty note. Sat in the corner of The Discreet Charm Hotel and observed human behaviour.
The hotel was owned by Roy. Husband to Anna. His clientele mostly polyamorists. Roy a pinstriped jacketed satyr with a silver death’s head bracelet on his wrist.
He had seen the shoes and had taken a pic on his mobile. Sent a text out into the ether. Laid the phone on the table and lifted the glass to his lips whilst looking across the bar at the carnal wildlife.
In the night a reply came to his text. Someone prone to insomnia.
I have no silver pantyhose to match those heels. I am cheap chic.
He smiled. He had her foot in a shoe and her hand holding her ankle. It was a snapshot. A detail. Then an image flashed. She was leaning against the railings of a pier. Her legs long and thin in cut ups.
As Anna wrapped the shoes in pink tissue she looked at him for a moment before reaching for the cello tape.
Did you want to try them on first?
He laughed.
I stole these shoes, she continued in her gin doused gravelly voice – if the alcohol didn’t kill her the forty cigarettes a day would.
My husband has an hotel. More like a brothel. They belonged to a young woman he employed. I know they can’t have been lovers. He can’t get it up to get it on. I assume it was some kind of fetish play. Just another sugar daddy. I took the shoes from her room. At first I thought I would keep them in my wardrobe. Then I decided to put them in the window. She’s stopped to look a couple of times. We never made eye contact. She was quite beautiful. I keep wondering if it’s his Faustian curled eyebrows that attracted her.
He placed the shoes on the carpet and lay stretched out on the floor. He couldn’t imagine Karamel Marshmallow wearing them. He thought he might leave them in a tree for birds to build a love nest in.
His mobile buzzed. An incoming text.
If the shoe fits. But sadly I’m a size up.
He lifted one of the shoes and looked at the 37 stamped on the sole.
Angel of the ether. Ether eternal.
He texted back.
The shop has a pair of white running shoes in your size.
K is for…
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