City Living

Today Kristen and I went to DSW during our lunch break. She wanted some new shoes so I went with her. While we were along the back wall of the store that's against a building, I happened to look up and saw a greasy guy standing half-naked (as far as I could visually confirm) in a window opposite the store. I looked away quickly, because he had his arms in front of him in such a way that it looked like he may have been indulging in a little self-pleasure.
I turned around as if to look at a particularly captivating pair of wool-sweater clogs and squealed, "Kristen, I think that guy up there is jerking off."
She looked up and immediately started laughing without looking away.
A minute later I looked up again. The guy had tattoos on his arms and chest, had a shaved head, and was muscular in the way that guys are when they were beefy, but haven't worked out in about three months. I made eye contact with him before I nearly confirmed visually that the guy was naked from the waist down. I ran away back toward the sexy black boots before I learned anything else.
"Maybe he likes feet," Kristen and I said, nearly in unison.
Seriously. What if this guy looked for apartments all his life, desperate to find a place where he could gander at all the naked feet he could from the privacy of his own home? Maybe he joined the military (hence all the tattoos, bald head and soft-meatiness) so he could save money, and finally found a place in Boston next to the DSW, where women slipped off their sandals to try on loafers, sensible heels and tall boots and he could revel in his foot fetish without an internet connection. There are stories everywhere, people.