The End

It was cold, fucking cold; it was raining hard and I could barely see where I was going.
This was Grove End; it was urban, not suburban. Hardly anyone had a nine to five. We just called it The End.
Cars drove by and sloshed in the puddles that filled the cracks of the main road. The frost made my face feel stiff. I held my hood as the wind blew. It just about sheltered me from the falling rain water. I put my hands in my pockets, I  didn’t want my scarlet nail varnish to smudge and I put my head down, so the drizzle wouldn’t run my non-waterproof mascara. I was hot stepping, though I was finding it hard in my new platforms that were crippling my feet. I was used to heels, but these 5” heels were killing me, man.
Alexander McQueen Hot Pink peep-toe platforms, seen them in the magazine in the off licence. Just scanned the pages, didn’t buy. Because really, though, who the fuck buys a magazine for three quid? Well not me anyway. Ripped that shit clean out the pages and put it in my bag. Had to have them shoes.
 Except for the shoes I wasn’t making no major effort for tonight, just standard. Red nail polish, denim jeans and my white hoodie. Girly with a touch of street style.
 It was lucky I had my Nike trainers in my bag. Fuck knows how I had fit them in besides all the shit I had in it! Makeup, baggies, clothes and cigs.
My feet were killing me. I told myself never to wear this shit in the rain again. I stopped in a shop doorway to put my trainers on. My peep toes would have given me huge blisters if I’d have kept them on any longer.
 I was late. It was nearly ten o’clock. I should have been at Selena’s at nine. But at nine I was still working; naked, except for these peep-toe platforms. They were to blame. I was a big time shoe fanatic. Designer shit always cripples your pocket, and these cost me £450, which I had earned doing private dances at The Pussycat Club. Easy money, so easily spent.
But I did love these shoes.