Satan's Florsheims. WC - 999

I want to get rid of my shoes.

The left one, at least.

But probably the right one as well. I mean, who ever heard of keeping one shoe but not the other?

It's just that... the right shoe never did me any wrong, and I do love it so. How many weeks, how many miles walked in it until it became perfectly broken in, and not broken? The leather was soft but smart, polished to a shine. My foot practically sighs every time I put it on at the start of the day. It's the kind of shoe a father gladly bestows upon his son one day. A rite-of-passage between a man and a man-to-be. They were the kind of shoes to proud of!

Well, the right one.

The one which I currently used to deploy the accelerator of my Buick convertible.

But that left one! Oh!

I shook a finger of reprimand at that monster as I drove.

It left marks on the floor, it smelled, refused to stay laced. Sometimes my ankle would buckle for no apparent reason.

Not the right one. Never the right one.

But that blasted left shoe had always been up to no good. I can see that now.

It chewed holes through my stockings, gave me blisters, and squeaked so vexingly that my neighbors would yell at me if I came home too late in the evening -- and that was when they WEREN'T wet!

I pressed the accelerator down a little more. The magenta sunset emblazoned across the rearview mirror as the air pulled away my fedora and left my hair to fend for itself.

I had an idea!

To appease the neighbors, I found myself lately removing my shoes in the car and walking up the walk in only my stocking feet -- even in the rain.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?!" I yelled at the left shoe.

It didn't respond, but I know it heard me.

I was seeing this girl, Sally, and we really hit it off. But after three dates, it seems Ol' Mr. Lefty got himself a mite jealous! I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's the only way to explain what happened next.

I had taken Sally to Vincente's, a classy place downtown with candles and a maitre d'. She was smiling and radiant, as always, and long about coffee and dessert I had thoughts of maybe putting my arm around her on the way home, if I happened to leave the roof open.

Alas...

All thoughts of romance died on the vine the exact instant my left leg shot out and kicked her in the shin. She cried out and her face fell into her bananas foster which was, I am sad to say, still alight. Her makeup and hairspray immediately ignited and melted 60% of the skin on her head. The maitre d' and 2 busboys received 2nd degree burns as they extinguished her with towels. She also left the restaurant with a nasty welt on her shin.

I finally caught up with the 9:30 to 'Frisco, right on time, and the sun had long since dipped into the ocean behind me.

On the way home that night with Sally, I was well within my rights to lose my temper, "All right! I have had enough of this! Why aren't I allowed to date? Was it just Sally, or is it all girls? Hmm? ANSWER ME!"

No answer. He had nothing to say, for once.

I screeched to a halt on the sidewalk and stormed into my house. My temper had surely been whipped into a lather, I can tell you that! The neighbor yelled out her window, but I didn't have time for neighborly things, "SHUT UP, MRS. PURVISS!"

I gently placed the right shoe on its velvet cushion by my pillow. But the left...

Gritting my teeth, I untied that evil wingtip as fast as a man could, grabbed the shoehorn, and prepared to lose that accursed shoe forever.

But it would not give.

What the hell?

I gave the shoehorn a little extra mustard, but it snapped and stabbed my Achilles tendon. I screamed, as any man would, but that set off the neighbors' dog, "I SWEAR TO GOD, MRS. PURVISS!"

So, for the last week, I have been unable to remove that damn shoe -- or my pants, for that matter. Pretty sure my foot got infected. I returned the right shoe to my other foot and paced and thought, hatched a plan.

A plan I was exacting tonight!

I used a pry bar, a screwdriver, even a hacksaw, but nothing would separate me from that demon shoe!

But a train... NOTHING is stronger than a train. Not even a devilish shoe.

I just had to believe in myself.

I sped up past a hundred MPH and passed the engine, just as the last purple hues faded from the rearview.

A little ways up the road was a crossing. I got there in plenty of time to sit on the front bumper and dangle my left leg over the near rail. I knew it was extreme, but I hoped the force of the oncoming train's momentum would only jar the shoe loose, not break my leg. I was willing to take that chance.

The train's light began cresting the hill. No turning back, now!

Suddenly, the Buick rolled forward a foot, then another. Within seconds, the entire front half of the car was on the tracks!

But that was impossible! I know I set the brake! I just know it!

But then it hit me that the parking brake is located on the left side of the steering wheel, and it would have been nothing for the left shoe to disengage it as I had vacated the vehicle. All I could do was tip my cap to the left shoe as 5,000 tons of steel and freight crashed into me. It had really gotten me good, this time!