Peeping Toms

Booties in soft leather. The kind that feel like butter. The heal, chrome, my armor. Half moon toe opening to the knuckle.

I toss my battered old pair of Fly’s, torn and worn, into the city trash can lining the Theater arena. My toes flash “Big Apple Red”, peeping boldly against the grey, matte foot pad as I pound the city stairs up Madison Square Garden. Ready to rock out to Sol Invictus feeling like a “Superhero”.