by Larkin Vonalt

Damn, there’s a hole in my shoe. I thought maybe the leather was getting a little thin there a few days ago, walking down that gravel drive.  Still, this is one of my favorite pairs, cordovan Johnston and Murphy wingtips.  Did Ellen get these for me before she took her powder? I can’t remember. No, I think I got them at Altman’s over on Monroe. Doesn’t matter, I guess. There’s a hole in one, now.  I wonder if I should take them to the shoe repair. But they’re never the same when you get them back. It’s like putting the new sole on makes them smaller, or tighter or something. They’re never as comfortable.

Well, they say if you’re going to campaign, you’ve got to use a lot of shoe leather, heh heh. Sometimes I wonder why I let the President talk me into this. Still, Kefauver is too much of a loose cannon, and Russell, that fucking bigot, no surprise that he didn’t get much love at the convention. Jesus, it’s hot up here in Michigan. The venue’s outside tonight, maybe there will be a breeze. It’s great of old Soapy to get the faithful out, but it must be 90 degrees for his Labor Day picnic.

Eisenhower’s going to make this a struggle anyway, he’s got that whole war hero thing going for him, and Stewart Alsop with that crack about “eggheads.” Alsop went to Groton, what does that make him– the common man?  Glad I brought this linen jacket, it’s just stifling in here. What is that on the radio? Sounds like someone stepping on a cat. Oh, Johnnie Ray, can’t stand that guy. Where’s the knob? Blessed silence. All right, time to go and meet the throngs of happy Democrats. I’m sad about this shoe, though. It’s one of my favorites. Guess it’ll have to do for now. I wonder if they have a good shoe store here in Flint.

I have a hole in my shoe.