"He went to the bedroom and when he returned he was still wearing thesame dress. He was however wearing the white flats."Yesterday it was moccasins an... today it is flats. How many pair did youbuy?" I got a black, a red, these white flats, and the moccasins. I AM goingto wear them. I am NOT going to wear heels all the time."She decided to let him wear what shoes he wanted. She had never heardhim raise his voice before.As they were getting ready for bed she said, "I am going to let you wearthe. I watched, shaking my head, as Polly's fine form sauntered from table to table, shaking her rear.But then my reverie was interrupted."Then you the poet-boy from New York, huh? The spoiled apple," the bleaty voice laughed long at its stupid joke. "So, you must be pretty faggoty, that right?"The man speaking sat several stools away. I was relieved, and certainly not worried, directly. His stool was like a rotten stump, drenched by a week of rain, and with a day of sunshine there he had swollen. More

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