The Ugly Foot.

Feet disgust me at the best of times.

When I go out in public, I feel at ease, thanks to the fact that everybody has their steps encased by one form of kicks or another.

With winter (and cold weather in general) approaching, I feel even more secure knowing that boots will play their part in operation: keep-feet-out-of-sight.

But I was wrong – boy, was I wrong. On perhaps the coldest night of the year, the ugly foot crawled it’s way straight from my nightmares and hopped it’s way into plain view. Bouncing around, toes fluttering side to side – I was repulsed. I felt like I could smell it. I’m gagging as I type this.

So, at first, I look away. But curiosity got the better of me – I looked back. I gagged a little bit, and looked away again.

“Put it away, put it away, put it away!” I repeated in my head.

I had to leave.

A week later, I returned.

Another chilly night, I swallowed my fear, hoping that the frost on my car was enough to keep the ugly foot at bay.

Once again, I was wrong.

It’s a reoccurring ugly foot. It follows me, tiptoeing around my worst of nightmares.

Fuck, I hate feet.

The journalist within me came up with a clever idea. I took photos. I had to do it. I had to.


The Ugly Foot
Note: Dirty heel, dirty toes. Dutty, dutty, dutty.

Am I weird?

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