I don’t guess she’d go for my shoes either, even though they’d be less punishing than her stilts. Up at the podium Tuesday night in Philadelphia, she’d be able to lean back and rock nonchalantly on her heels, in greater command.

She’ll still supersede.

(The insoles, when I landed on these, were already sludgy. They only got worse. I cut new ones from an ugly handbag from Gift & Thrift, fake suede, and glued them in. It’s a good glue so maybe the clamps were overkill.) 



 

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