Fading Heels


The old woman waited patiently on the pavement, like so many times before, clutching a flimsy, frilly jacket to her body to escape the icy wind that swirled mockingly around her and taunted her exposed flesh. She had been there all evening, dressed in her finest: improbable heels, fish net stockings, a tight silk red dress slit up to forbidden heights, and excessive make-up to match. But no one had even slowed for her, and the street was now empty, the other younger girls having found customers for the night, leaving her alone to her maudlin thoughts.

Finally she sighed and walked off slowly, painfully, to return, hungry to an empty room.

Behind her a solitary can clattered in the wind, offering a tinny accompaniment to the click-clacking of her fading heels.