The Optimist.The Optimist
A thousand white tiles stretched up and down the platform. Some were cracked, some were missing, but all had dirt on them. The dirt was from every person in this city. They all came through here, everyday, and dirtied these white tiles. Along the edge of the platform, just before it's cement edge, lay three rows of pleasant blue tiles. A far number of these tiles still had their faces untarnished by the masses. Every eighth tile in the middle row was a lighter blue, and seemed to glow in on the edge of the platform.
My feet sat on the tiles and were crossed slightly, one behind the other. They, like the tiles, were dirty. Actually, my feet were fine, but the shoes, they had seen better days. Hundreds of days filled with rain and mud, and careless passersby who stepped on my feet, had given their age. I didn't care though, no I really didn't, I like the old look of my shoes. People would see them and know, that I had gone places with these shoes. Maybe, even places they'll