The City Step

The last time I was in the city I was a baritone nervosa with a speech impediment and a visible limp - courtesy of my left leg being a good centimetre shorter than my right leg. That time, the last time, I was in what I now realise was a state of accelerated flux. Like the city itself, onward, onward.

My limp has now, as you ask, vanished. On account of the fact that the shoe I wear on my left foot has a heel a good centimetre higher than the heel on my right foot. I am fuller balanced and much happier as a result. I neither lean nor lurch. I step, not stumble.

My speech impediment has similarly va-vanished. I jest, of course. My speech impediment has similarly vanished. On account. Of the fact. That I. Decided. To get out there. And get the. Damn thing. Sorted out. An event of how now brown cows and a confidence shot in the form of pills and powders that did the very trick. I can speak with impunity now and not worry, at all, of a potential fall.

In the city I am of the now, a different character of stripe than I ever was before. I walk tall on an even keel and sing my words as I think and feel. If you didn’t know me you’d think I was gliding on stilts or vaulting via the monorail. Look at me go. Zoom I go.