Britany PowellComment

Je t'Aime

Britany PowellComment

The sirens of a passing ambulance, the brush swish of the revolving door, the squeak of my fingerprint on glass.  Senses overwhelmed me, drowning all hopes of rationale in a tsunami of lights and leathers and shiny baubles.  I’m on a trip.  Was it LSD?  Cocaine?  No.  A shopping trip.  Get it together, darling. 

I sweep over the exhibit, latching my gaze onto those shoes.  Those shoes.  Crouching to meet them on their acrylic pedestal, they twinkled back at me, chiming teasingly, “$400, $400, $400!” 


One of my hands reached out to lift the peacock from her perch; her plumage bloomed at my touch.  Sapphire brilliance gleamed effervescently, mesmerizing my vision as the prominent smell of new car leather wafted through my nose, captivating my senses entirely.  Sleek and slim, her heel gloated at me from behind, like a debutante fluttering her hand fan mockingly.  My heart was fluttering, too.  I could already hear her in my head tick tacking down the cool marble hall, embracing my steps as smoothly as if we were made for each other.  Across the flagstone lobby and out onto the ashen floor of our concrete jungle.