Category Archives: Eddie Kirsch

Red Shoes by Eddie Kirsch

“Fancy,” I said, sipping a Tom Collins. I watched her as she watched herself in the mirror.


I pointed to the three wine bottles that held three white candles.

“That. That’s fancy.”


She looked into her eyes searching deep through her pupils, looking to find what was inside. I chomped a piece of ice, and laid back on her bed, waiting for nothing to happen. She swayed side to side, and I could hear the swish of her skirt.

“Hey, what do you think about this?”

I lifted my head; she was holding two pairs of shoes, juxtaposing one color to another.

“Well, I think they both look fine.”

“I can’t trust you on anything.”


“Don’t say sorry, you say that to much.”

“Well, I am though.”

“You’re a mess.”

I knew I was and she didn’t have to say it and if I had more pride I would have left. I felt water collect on the outside of my glass. I thought eventually if I stayed quite for long enough she might feel sorry.

Dismissing my silent pleas, she swayed to the kitchen and swished back with a bottle of something yellow.

“Let’s take a shot.”

The taste of tequila sizzled down my throat.

“The red ones,” I said.

“What?” She replied.

Sometimes I don’t know. She looks at me with disregard. I’m just there, another thing in the room, a nightstand or a candle.

“The red shoes fancy me.”

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