he walks through the mud slipping and falling, face imprinting the muck.
every day, he runs off across the yard and slips and falls, a filthy mess.
i cant count the times I have offered him better shoes and he refuses.
'i like my shoes just fine' he says. and runs off and slips and falls.
well now he has broken his damn arm, while falling and asks me to help him.
not help him, but just pay for the damn broken arm.
i think i have had it, so i offer him the shoes again and walk away.
and he flails, broken in the mud, cursing the shoes. and my footprints.
