Squeak.
Stomp.
That’s all I hear today.
Squeak.
Stomp.
My right shoe is squeaking every time I take a step.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Started first thing this morning, soon as I stepped off the train.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Get up to walk to the bathroom?
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Need a book from the shelf on the other side of my office?
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
According to my little pedometer, I’ve taken 4417 steps today.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Figure at least 4000 of those came after I started my walk from the Yellow Line around 7:30am.
Squeak.
Stomp.
That means I’ve heard about 2000 Squeaks already.
Squeak.
Stomp.
And even if I’m lazy tonight, I’ll hear at least another 1000 before I can get home and change my shoes.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Hence the title.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Pretty sure I’ll be gnawing off my foot at the ankle before 5 just to make the squeaking stop.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Then, of course, I’ll need a prosthetic.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
And if I’m going to have a prosthetic I’m getting a fucking pegleg.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Unless bionic legs have come down in price.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
But six million dollars is slightly out of the budget right now.
Squeak.
Stomp.
Squeak.
Stomp.
So pegleg it is.
Click.
Stomp.
Click.
Stomp.
