The City that never sleeps. Towering silver skyscrapers, reach up into the night sky, their multitude of lights polluting the darkness. Lights of every shape, size, and color flashing, pointing, advertising sex or liquor. A heaving tide of late-night revelers shuffle along the crowded sidewalks; yellow cabs and cars the size of spaceships, their drivers gesticulating and honking horns in frustration, clog the Streets. The City that never sleeps.
The silence of the monochrome interior of the glass-fronted apartment on the 74th floor was broken.
“That was one hell of a fantastic night out!”
“It sure was. I haven’t had that much fun in donkeys. I’m glad it wasn’t raining, I despise going out in the wet. “
“Yeah, ditto. I felt a tad uneasy on the dance floor in that nightclub; for the first five minutes anyway. Did you see up that women’s dress? It was hard to miss, she wasn’t shy at all.”
“I saw, and that flirty bitch don’t know how close she was to getting a good kicking.”
“Now now, don’t get jealous, I made things up to you under the table. Did I not.”
“BOY! You sure did. If there’s one thing I love it’s the intimacy of under a table.
I hope you don’t me saying, but you were starting to smell a bit erm sweaty.”
“And so were you. As a matter of fact, the word whiffy springs to mind.”
“Whiffy am I. “
“Yes, you bloody well are; and you’re black!”
“Hark at the kettle calling the pot black, you’re black too.”
“It’s a good job, we’d look stupid together otherwise.”
“You can have black and white together you know. There doesn’t have to be a hard border between the two.”
“I suppose you’re right. Married together correctly the two colors go well together.”
“They do! Now change the record.”
“I wonder when and where we’re going next.”
“Lord knows. As long as we are together, I care not.”
On that tender note, the two shoes, side by side, in front of the patio door closed their eyelets and went to sleep.
Nighty night everyone.
Next Week, join Mr. and Mrs. Welly on a trip to the Pig Farm.