So I’m in San Francisco last weekend with a buncha danged professionals and I’m feeling the odd man out. (I mean I felt strange in their company. Get your mind out of the gutter)
Anyway, they’ve all got nice cars, successful careers, wallets full of cash, and really great clothes. Especially the shoes. Every one of these bastards has what appears to be a brand new pair of shoes on their feet – sneakers or leathers – that probably cost more than my diet since September, and there I was in my four year old, beat to shit, steel-toed, brown hiking boots with obvious, whisker-like black laces. The original, brown ones were worn out and all I had were these stiff black things that I stupidly decided to replace the others with just before the trip.
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