Unfeet Part 4
Top Moss at 8 a.m. was vibrating with life. Almost all the tables were occupied save for two. One was in front of the moss counter, right on the main passageway, the other inside the square, located on a black tile. Boyal liked that, it felt more cozy. He tottered through the rows of cafe tables, made his way to the free table and sat facing the moss counter. As soon as he sat, Boyal noticed two playful eyes smiling at him behind a moss cup. They belonged to a rather charming lady of Boyal’s age. She delicately lowered the cup of moss and tilted her head towards the feet sticker. She was ginger and had fire cheeks. When the cup hit the table, she dangled on her seat and the most graceful left leg Boyal had seen in a long time stuck out of the table. She was a feet sticker. She obviously wanted Boyal to know it, and stupidly, without thinking, he stood back up, stepped out of the chair and presented his two intact yet hurtful lanky legs. She puffed out, laughing. He smiled back. She was alone and invited Boyal to sit with her.
Suddenly the pain was gone in his right ankle and he pranced the five steps that lead to her table.
“I am very attracted to men with feet,” she said straight out.
Boyal winked, put a cute face on as he sat in front of her and said, “can’t say we have that in common.”
And in an instant, the charming cutesy mood was broken. “Oh, you’re thinking of cutting them off?”
“What? Oh, no no.” Boyal said, and the discounted advertisement of below-knee operations he watched all week flashed before his eyes. “Never ever considered it,” he lied. “I was just making a joke, you know, with you liking men, being a woman, and me, being a man, not liking men.” His face mimicked his confused state. It was painful to watch.
“Good,” the woman said, leaning forward. Boyal leaned towards her. “We’re a dying species.” And she pushed herself back against her chair. “My name is Namily, I am very attracted to you. Married?”
“Wh… huh, no.”
“Not attracted?”
“Not married.”
#
From Boyal’s forty-second-floor apartment, the view of Andreapolis almost looked like the city of old, the city both Namily and Boyal grew up in, before the age of the feet revolution. The skyscrapers were the same, and from a distance all of Andreapolis cornerstone attraction looked the same as they always did. The emporium still stood to the West, the hanging gardens were in the North, right after the suspended lake of Artoria, then there was the temple mountain, above which all the flybus were always forbidden to fly.
“Sometimes I think I could just dive here, from that window,” Boyal said as he pushed his living room window open, “and land into the past.” He leaned forward, head above the emptiness below, his hair fluffing in the wind. “I’ll jump, and a flybus will catch me before my fall.” Boyal leaned back to safety. “The roads would be cleared, the pavements used for walking, not advertisements. We’ll all have both our legs and we wouldn’t ever think about changing it.”
Below the covers of the sofa bed, Namily lingered, her body naked, frisky, her hair disheveled, sticking to her forehead with sweat. “And what will you do then?”
He turned back, one hand on the window handle, he pulled it back and closed it. “I’ll go to the hanging gardens, and look for a girl with fire hair, freckles around her ankles and an insatiable appetite for love.”
Namily turned on her back and stared at the ceiling. Her visage took a sombre, less playful tone. “No offense, darling, but in a city full of two legged-men, you’ll have your work cut out for you before I take heed of that long face of yours.”
“Don’t you like my long face?”
“I do, I adore it.” Namily opened her arms towards him, calling him for a hug. She waited for him to lie on her and rest his head against her breasts to add. “It’s the best long face of all the two-legged men in Andreapolis.”
