High stepping with a tapity-tap-tap, seventy-year-old shoes came dancing into my way. Spats, rivets, 1930, my world is new. Zipped up and snapity-snap-snapped, they clothe my feet with a smooth motivation. The divine impetus of history courses from toe to top. Brown leather, glen check spat and brass, all their silky reverie on display.
1 comment:
Oh my. Oh My. Vougue would not approve. Not at all!
The S.
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