The sidewalk around her feet was turned upside down and taken away, mud left in it's place. Her white shoes hated the new developments. However hard she worked to avoid the mud, the mud tried twice as hard to find her white shoes and stain them. She could never keep anything clean, or the way it was supposed to be.
She hated the way new houses were built. The rest of the house protrudes forward, while you're eye has to search for the door. They are not inviting places to her, they are menacing and scream of suburban prisons.
Her feet shuffled against the ground and turned inward slightly as she walked. All her weight shifted to the outer edges of her feet, and her shoes hated her for ruining their shape. She sighed and continued on. Nothing is ever the way we want it to be.
Later that day she stood in a circle of her friends, with her feet bare. Her shoes hated her for being abandoned. She stood with her feet straight (aligned by a friend) and legs straight. Somehow her knees felt as though they were going to buckle in on her. All her life she hadn't even been standing right, and her feet grew purple and ached with pain at this new found "natural" position. She wanted to return to the habitual, even if it was wrong.