Life on the edge of a shoe

Are you Walter? he asked, puffing on a dark cigarette, with his left eye closed, smoke rising towards his right eye.

Who’s Walter? I asked.

A short woman in pink with pink bag clutched to her chest looked at me, then to the man with a dark cigarette and to her bag.

Are you Walter? he repeated. I pretended not to hear him and watched a group of policemen on the other side of the street looking at a girl with short skirts and ample bosom. He mumbled something to himself and laughed, the laughter disappeared into a crowd dancing to a tiny cd player and the music from the cd player was lost into the sound of traffic. The traffic was a mess.

Everyone was no one or pretending to be someone…, observed the man with the brown cigarette.

A cat without tail rubbed against a lamp post and looked up measuring the length of the post. Just then, a policeman kicked the cat into the oncoming traffic with his steel toe boot. An old BMW ran over the cat.

This is a hollow life, the man with the cigarette said. I pretended not to hear, but wanted to ask him who the hell was Walter. I did not.