Sying smiled looking down at his stock of American insoles, all which were compiled through one night stands and with no remorse for what would soon become of them. Glancing over the collection, he found a size 10 pair and hoisted them into the air. Carefully he wrapped the two in a thin layer of plastic and used a hair dryer to heat seal them together. Satisfied with the job, he dropped the two insoles into a small box, taped it up, labeled it and dropped the package by his front door.
The living insoles rested inside their box, unable to talk but able to feel, to feel the dread, the terror, the hopelessness of what laid before them. Eventually the post man would pick them up and soon their journey would begin under the soles of their new Chinese master
The living insoles rested inside their box, unable to talk but able to feel, to feel the dread, the terror, the hopelessness of what laid before them. Eventually the post man would pick them up and soon their journey would begin under the soles of their new Chinese master