Lady in Red
I’m tired of this. It’s been a hard day. Just like every other day. It’s been on repeat for the longest time. Waiting in the bitter snow for old men to sit down on my crate box for me to shine their shoes. They sit in front of me with their nose so high in the air, not a word in my way. My hands are frozen and pale from the sharp air and moving in the same motion for the past few hours. Then I wait for more haughty men to buff the top of their shoes until they stop coming. Quite sad to say that I’m a writer who shine shoes. Can I still call myself a writer? I haven’t finished a piece for a long time. I’m on my way home now to sit on that same splintered chair, waiting for a good story to form in my head. But nothing good ever comes.
