Sunday, January 18, 2009

A black puddle of Christian Louboutins

Slowly she started pursuing her paste, her heels clicking maniacally against the dark street, the jewelry clinked on her wrist, shattering the monotone rhythm of the neoprene Hardy’s.

The list still scrunched in her hand. The freezing cold crystallizing the street. Dark shattered reflections. The mirroring glare of the puddles turned to ice gave her bleak face a ghostly expression.

And there it was, sharp shrieks of red running through the frozen liquids on the street. A black puddle of Christians Louboutin’s. As envisioned for pursued the Louboutin’s are by far most exiting to follow, the sleek red of the heel seduces toward a passionate end. Like a black cat, smoothly following the silhouettes of the night, with its passionate red tail not knowing its truly red dead.

Crossing the corner at Prince street and turning a sharp right for a second she thought she lost the cat, but a lingering thread of red stood out against the grayness of the blurred street. Coming in closer now, she could almost feel the warmth coming out of this furred silhouette. And while the streets where whispering in silence, a reflection of selfish lacquered red broke the Polaroid Perfection on pantos shaped acetate.

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