The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Not exactly an even wear. On a riding heel, no less, so that's not a trivial amount of mileage. Not ridden atop a mighty steed, but ridden hard and long nonetheless. And whipped many a time with a riding crop. It's my left foot. I don't even need to check which foot it is. It is the foot that drags when my back starts hurting. And I don't mean hurting. I mean REALLY hurting. A pulsing numbness, yet combined yet with searing pain exists in a mutually exclusive duality going down my left leg. Numbness. And pain. There's no explaining how those two exist side by side unless you've felt it. And my wife looks for a new pair of boots to last this final sprint towards the finish line. An identical replacement, really. For they have served me well. After all, I have earned the name of Vaquero Doc. Why trade it in now?