There she went, strutting down the street with the mad tenacity of a drunken stilt-walker—stumbling, wobbling, yet determined to keep moving as if nothing was amiss. On her perfectly opposable and slightly furry left foot, she wore a killer six-inch stiletto, glittering bright red in the streetlights, while the other foot was bare. Her shoe had gone missing on the dance floor. It probably got stuck in one of the holes of the crumbling wooden planks that urgently needed refinishing and was by now trampled down to its makings: rubber, leather, rhinestones.

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