"This Giant Shoe is the Farewell Kiss, You Dog!"

The Mayakovsky Tree suffered, plumed with ice from the storm.

Then the temperature went up to 60 and the windows opened. I was hiding in the bedroom closet. I slept in the Lafuma shoe box all afternoon, sweating like the Baby Jesus.

"My limbs are brittle and querulous," the Mayakovsky Tree said. "I would go back to my childhood just for a piece of candy, a smile, or an embarrassing parting kiss."

"Mayakovsky Tree, do you know what throwing a giant shoe means in the Arab world?"

"The White House is a common pimp and cardsharp, Shimmy. The President of the War on Terror struts against the sky and teases us with his callused feet."

"Invading and occupying a country and killing 1.3 million citizens is a deep insult in the Arab world, signifying that the country being invaded is as low as the dirt underneath the sole of a giant shoe," I said.

I stretched on the bean bag chair, pretending I was Barbarella. The shiny yellow vinyl made a delicate, crunchy noise when I licked my left paw.

"Giant shoes in breathable leather turn themselves inside out," the Mayakovsky Tree said. Melting snow dripped from his limbs. "Waterproof giant shoes made by overpronators are great for middlebrow downhill biking, remarkably successful waterboarding, or fancy wear and tear!"

"Hitting someone with a giant shoe made with a satin toe and a medium-width platform is a deep insult in the Arab world."

"Giant shoes gallop on their giant nerves until their legs give out, Shimmy!"