It is smart, right?

Sitting down, you grab the boots, kick off your shoes, and with a whoosh you are back home. “Son of a bitch. Why am I stupid?” You shake your head and are pretty sure the creature looking at you is laughing quietly. “Well that was quick. I’ll just go back.” You slide the shoe back on, but even though you didn’t change the description at all the vision that hits is completely different. Gone is the foreign kid trying to get along in New York. The new piece of background is a girl in a simple black dress and doc martens, in a darkroom helping an old man develop film. You know he is her grandfather. He teaches her the craft, gives her a camera, takes her downtown in a big city to just watch people. Her parents aren’t around, a car crash maybe.

You grab the other shoe, entranced by the unfolding memories. Years fly by, the grandfather gone, living on the street, ****, sex, graffiti, paint always on her fingers, digital camera always in her bag. More time passes, she walks to New York. Rides subway trains, arrested several times, stealing. Another year passes, a judge yelling at her, telling her she is an adult now. That she needs to change. She gets a job serving drinks at a shitty strip club, but it pays well, she gets a studio apartment with one of the strippers. Time slows, again you are getting ready for work at a bar, but not a skirt, a black dress, stockings, platform heel mules, her dark brown hair looks similar but cut short, boyish, rather than a ponytail, same piercings in nose and lip, but another in her tongue and eyebrow. As you settle into your new body your hand reaches down. A pussy, you are a tad surprised. You tap the phone sitting in the exact same spot as the last time, it is 4:45, so no extra time has passed. The map warns you have a 12 minute subway ride to work, and as before you are expected at 5. Luckily this time the subway exit is very close to the club.

“Hurry up bitch. We are going to be late.” A woman’s voice yells.

“Okay, I’m ready, fuck.” You say the words unconsciously as you exit the bathroom.

A statuesque woman in a red sequin dress, with 7” stiletto heel pumps stands at the doorway out of the apartment. She has a tiny cute red purse on her shoulder, and holds a blue satchel, denim, with a few paint splotches in her hand, holding it out for you. “Let’s go. Move your ass.” She demands. As you get to her she leans forward slightly for her kiss.