rdking.net

I swore I'd never buy a pair of white shoes, particularly bucks; I refused.   I despised them without motive.   And it's not that I feared the scuff, it was the manner.   That manner that I abhorred—typically god-awful, used car, and jackass.

Yes, I was adamant over the issue, proud in my distaste.   Even as the day came when I found a sharp looking pair in a boulevard window. I hated the face I could see myself break in to—I hoped that my fury would burst the glass.   And no, they weren't bucks but I wasted my lunch hour and then had to fumble around Receiving for another hour and a half before I could walk back and admire the polyester loafer.

They were snow white—made in Korea, probably the industrial section of Seoul.   There was no stopping now.   I let turn angled with glass not burning really.   Couldn't why reasoned better do buying.   Building do, do stock; smile shoehorn set fretless teeth wild.   Bankamericard wide.

Yet the desire for opera windows has been more difficult to manage, more an obsession.   Suburb to suburb, car lot to car lot, reading the sticker price on late model sedans has been an unsettling ritual.