A paradoxical world, invested in its connections. This is what is thought of today when a women of queerness revels upon the people and things which surround her. How this queer women wonders what bindings are placed upon a person who meets another, even for a fraction of the second in which they brush paths.
One-person walks a dog, the dog stops, whips its head to every wooden telephone pole it crosses in order to rasp in the pine scent. The struggling arm heaves the leash of the smug faced canine, but it does not relent and there, at one pole escapes bile from the animalís hind, which is left on the grassy surface. Later, at the end of the block, black boots, with a small heel, that is softly polished touches the cement with a sound of horse until it encounters the excrement, which has fallen slightly away from the said dead tree. No longer just horse-sounds but a sound of squeamish yuck, and pudding mess. Scuffing of one boot on said grass removes most of the bile that was left; finally the boots are dissuaded and resume their horse-walk-sounds.
The motion of typing is eagerly prancing away on the keyboard of a humid library. The fingers that are typing have femininity to their size, and who are painted with red nail polish. Enter pressed, the keyboard sings. Hands stop typing and reach for a mug that is filled with dark coffee, and brought to the lips, with a satisfying swallow of the throat, the mug is brought back down, and the fingers type their chorus once again.
The lady across of the painted nails sits with her legs folded sideways under her chair. She leans back in her oak wood seat, and her legs felted with leggings stretch out under the table and brush against another pair which are porting a pair black boots, that have a small heel, which are softly polished. Unknowingly the previous pudding mess is touched upon newly victimized felt leggings.