I imagine the woman wearing them leaning against this tree, bored to tears, waiting for the day to send her something interesting, when a white and chrome limousine pulls up to the curb. One of the tinted back windows rolls down, releasing the sound of Careless Whisper and the smell of Vetiver into the air. A rugged voice asks, “Care to join?”
She glances over her shoulder casually to assess the situation, and sees that the voice belongs to a felt hand puppet with a bald head the size of a grapefruit. The puppet is wearing aviator glasses, a thick mustache and a black silk shirt opened at the collar.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
A puppet hand appears in the window, guided clumsily by a slim stick, and points to a giant hot tub built into the back of the limousine. The bubbling water is full of puppets: a wide-eyed banana, a furry crocodile, a green letter E and a fish with a French accent.
“Why not?” the woman says.
So she slips out of her shoes, steps into the water and takes what the day has offered her.