On the ghetto corner of Adams and Copper, bare feet stand still on the rough gravel and tar. Covered in calluses caused by the consistent habbit of lack of footware. Hemp, macrame, and glass beads hang loosely around her bony ankles. She has a skirt that falls nearly to the ground covering unshaven legs. It's white, but not a new crisp white. Road line yellow dye bleeds up from the bottom hem and little speckles of red flattered the rest of her ensemble. Her stick thin torso drowns in an oversized tank top. It is a rustic orange color and splattered on the front is a large, radiant sun. The rays swirl wildly outward causing you to see through the eyes of a psychedelic junkie. One arm dangles at her side while the other bends at the elbow holding up her hand. She kept it in the shape of a V. 'Peace' she meant. Long straight hair falls just past her shoulders. It's chocolate, the kind you would find three days after a parade and would never want to eat. Her face is narrow, makeup free, natural beauty. I guess her eyes to be a greenish brown. She kept them hidden from the world behind a pair of brown tinted aviators. I keep on walking, but glance back once more. She smiles, and i feel happy.
Cool one! Is this a description of yourself? Are you a barefooter, do you have calloused soles and walk barefoot on rough gravel?
