prooley's_shoes c r 0 w l 'once, in a land where people had to walk everywhere they had to be, as if shoes were like cars, a man named prooley moritz, who some said had more shoes than stars in the sky or fish in the sea or sand on the beach, found that when he went to choose his favourite shoes, that is the wing tips with elf-like curls, they were mysteriously absent from his well organized closet. "shit!" prooley said, pissed. he, of course, after surveying row after row, not twice but five times, entertained many plausible possibilities concerning their puzzling whereabouts and baffling whathaveyous. "maybe i removed them last night at the japanese bon voyage party for donkeykick johnson," he said to his adopted greyhound that sat bemused, watching him. he drank way too much saki with his seared albacore and drunks tend to leave behind important things. but shoes? no, couldn't be that, he thought. "perhaps in the course of my inebriation-induced confident friend-making adventure over crepes, i permitted a member of the sole brothers cobbler's consortium to borrow them and enter them in the design and comfort awards segment at the applewood stidestepper's convention." he added. the greyhound yawned. no, couldn't be that, he thought. japanese crepes? sure, but never after sushi. he took his dog's needlenose in his right hand and racked his brain...... "i got it!" most likely, prooley determined, they had been coveted and subsequently stolen by one not figured to be a thief, at least not until now. he began to kick at his remaining shoes, none of which he ever wore anymore, with an anger he had rarely expressed. "you see, yesterday during lunch at the gnarly gnocci the waiter not only asked me where i got them but he said they would be perfect for perusing. what? don't you usually sit down for that?" and so off they went back to the restaurant. the waiter was there and had the same shoes on. except one major difference. they were black and red instead of black and white. "where's those awesome shoes of yours?" the waiter asked, holding a towering plate of spent crablegs. "i loved those puppies so much i bought myself a pair! different color, of course, i just knew you'd be back...but bare feet? what's up with this?" prooley was more confused than ever. he was touched and all, that, the waiter had been so impressed and now felt like shit that he had accused him of filching, even if it was just in his frustrated brain. anyway, he tried to act thankful and walked out. he stepped on a crabclaw that the waiter had accidently dropped and it hurt like hell. hopping on one foot into the street, he noticed a large crowd of people had formed a circle and were all clapping in a syncopated, energetic rhythm. prooley dropped his injured foot and limped closer, snaking his way inside the group for a closer look at their point of obvious interest. inside the circle was a large russian bear wearing a pink tutu. a short, pudgy man with a pointy goatee and a dunce's cap was playing "pop goes the weasel" on a violin. the bear was dancing. he really was. people were tossing money into a large suitcase. the bear was wearing prooley's shoes.......' 080326 ... thwa crowl revisited 140526 what's it to you? who go blather from