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766e7b6
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"Miss Dearheart gave him a very brief look, and shook her head. There was movement under the table, a small fleshy kind of noise and the drunk suddenly bent forward, colour draining from his face. Probably only he and Moist heard Miss Dearheart purr: 'What is sticking in your foot is a Mitzy "Pretty Lucretia" four-inch heel, the most dangerous footwear in the world. Considered as pounds per square inch, it's like being trodden on by a very pointy elephant. Now, I know what you're thinking: you're thinking, "Could she press it all the way through to the floor?" And, you know, I'm not sure about that myself. The sole of your boot might give me a bit of trouble, but nothing else will. But that's not the worrying part. The worrying part is that I was forced practically at knifepoint to take ballet lessons as a child, which means I can kick like a mule; you are sitting in front of me; and I have another shoe . Good, I can see you have worked that out. I'm going to withdraw the heel now.' There was a small 'pop' from under the table. With great care the man stood up, turned and, without a backward glance, lurched unsteadily away. 'Can I bother you?' said Moist. Miss Dearheart nodded, and he sat down, with his legs crossed. 'He was only a drunk,' he ventured. 'Yes, men say that sort of thing,' said Miss Dearheart."
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feminism
humor
high-heels
drunkenness
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Terry Pratchett |
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3fff438
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"Geraldine keeps her eyes trained on him as she slowly reaches into her purse, wrapping her fingers around her gun. "...Callo, I'm so sorry that your life ended up this way," she sighs as she gets out of her side of the car, her feet burning from the cold as her high heels sink into the fallen snow. "Aren't you scared?" "I'm you, Geraldine... I fell into the same trap as you, anyway," Callo answers. His large eyes are shining with tears, but he doesn't seem afraid in the least. "...The dead don't feel anything, you know... not even guilt or regret. So, what is there to be afraid of?"
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depression
emotion
fear
death
friendship
apology
forlornness
usurer
high-heels
forlorn
purse
revolver
lonliness
friend
trap
gun
tears
regret
kill
depressed
dead
guilt
die
eyes
dying
mental-illness
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Rebecca McNutt |