These are in the window of Martin's, a largely Hispanic-serving store in George Street, which has all kinds of different very cheap things, from hardware to electronics to velvet pillows. I tend only to go in there if I want keys cut - for a grumpy man does them very efficiently and cheaply - but I'm always looking around me convinced that there might be a bargain if one looks closely enough. That way madness lies, and I'm worried I've inherited a gene from my father, who's just discovered the Pound Rite, or similar, in somewhere like New Malden - something like a marginally upmarket 99 cent store.
This window full of shoes, though, had me thinking about my hypothetical course on color (which will most certainly include an article I read earlier this week - Oliver Sacks on a painter who suddenly found himself color blind, and everything that this tells us about where the color-making properties of the brain are located). And this, in turn, has me gazing panic-struck at the USC course numbers, for I'm meant to be coming up with some courses before Monday - which would be easy enough, if only they fitted somewhere. Does British Literature really stop in 1945? Surely not ... I feel like a rather shy, pink nosed rat, just starting to sniff at a very complex maze.
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