The life and times of Tommy2shoes

My feet stink, hot and musky rising up from my shoes, which in turn stink.
This wouldn't be an issue if someone didn't stealk my socks, sneaking around theiving in the dead of the night. I don't know why they want my socks so bad, i buy them 6 pairs for £3 from primark, the sweat and tears of sweatshop toddlers deep in every stitch.
Becuase my feet stink i can't take my shoes off. My feet get hotter and hotter through the day, sweating more and stewing pumping the fetid wretch inducing vapour up to my nostrils. My other workmates remark on this.
I'm the smelly one. That's how i'll be remembered, as the smelly one.
All becuase i keep buying socks and they last one day before they go.
I hate socks, and my trainers.
I want to stand in the shower for hours, letting the hot water thump and triockle on my neck.
But you can't read in the shower.
So i get bored.

I saw a dead fox last night.
Pink, plastic beercan binders were wraped around it's throat, from afar it looked like xmas ribbon. Up close it's eyes were bulged, still wet blood pooled around it's muzzle, it must've died within the hour of me finding it.
It was on it's side in the bus stop gutter and as the busses pulled up (there were two 141's before mine came) i waited in morbid anticipation for them to run over it, picturing the carcass popping under the tonnage of a rolling double decker, none of them did. As i left on the trundling 341 something truly lonely fell apon me as i thought of how i felt i should've done something. To me, it was as lonely a death as an old lady dead in an armchair on the 23rd floor of a council block, and just as much a metaphor for london.