The Persian Slippers

A Jack Dylan Adventure 

By Dixon Kinqade

The streetlights glowed eerily in the mist, like something fashioned in a dream, or maybe even a nightmare. It was one of those thin, chilly fogs that crept in from the Pacific and hung vaguely to the city streets. It was the kind of fog you could see through, but that made everything look hazy, fuzzy, and out of focus. The kind of gray haze that made you wonder what you'd do when you're ninety and all alone.

I'd rather have spent the night in a noisy gin joint full of extroverts playing cards, but instead I had to eat a quick dinner and drive into the secluded Palisades' hills to meet a guy. A guy who had nothing but trouble on his mind. When I pushed the buzzer, I had a strange sensation of wishing I was somewhere else. Carl Delaney himself opened the door. He was a grim man, brusque and to the point.

"Dylan?"

"That's right."

"You sure didn't waste any time getting here. Please, come in. I appreciate this. You're coming up here after business hours, I mean. I wouldn't have asked except for... Well, perhaps I've waited too long already. Please, sit down."

Choosing the most comfortable-looking chair in the room, that's exactly what I did. Then I asked him the most obvious question.

"Waited too long for what, Mr. Delaney?"

"Thirty-six hours ago, my wife disappeared. I want you to find her for me, Dylan, and fast as you can..."

"Just hold on a minute, Mr. Delaney. Disappeared, you say? You mind playing that part back a little slower this time?"

"Norma simply walked out that door. She got in her car and drove off, as she always does when we've quarreled. In the past, she's always returned in about an hour or so, but this time..."

"This time she didn't come back. Is that it? Look, Mr. Delaney, I could..."

"You'd better let me finish before you do anything. Lately, my wife has been brooding over something. I don't know exactly what that something is, but it must be something serious, because she refused to discuss the matter. I caught her crying several times and she's not a woman given to tears. Unless we move fast, I fear that when you find her, she'll be dead."

"You mean suicide?"

"Yes."

With his blunt hand, Delaney reached for a color portrait. It was lying face down on a mahogany end table. He handed it to me.

I looked and saw the face of a dream, a beautiful dream with strange hazel eyes and soft black hair. I felt Delaney watching me as I glanced up in time to see the fading end of a very ugly expression on his face.

I handed him the photograph and he placed it back on the table, face down. Then he took me upstairs to Norma's room. It was a frilly room, typically feminine and haunted by elusive sweet smells. Obviously, this room was not shared by Mr. Delaney. I surmised the couple had separate sleeping arrangements. There was only one incongruous note.

What was a horoscope doing on her desk? From the photograph, I knew Norma was attractive enough that she didn't need to rely on the stars for a promising future. She'd already married and quite well at that. Mr. Delaney had no shortage of financial resources and didn't seem to be tight-fisted about his wife's spending habits.

"A horoscope?"

"Yes, you know how women are. Dylan, will you find her for me?"

"Well, I'll certainly try. My rate is thirty-five dollars a day plus expenses. And just remember, you hired me to find her, not bring her back."

"Fair enough, Mr. Dylan. You just find her and I'll be satisfied."

"I'll need a starting point. Have there been any unusual letters or phone calls lately? Has Mrs. Delaney mentioned any new friends?"

"We have no 'close' friends and Norma was characteristically a private sort. Mostly, she kept to herself. However, there was a curious phone call yesterday. From Madame Jeanette, I think it was."

"Who's that, a dressmaker?"

"I haven't any idea. Said that she wanted to speak with Mrs. Delaney, but Norma was out at the time. So she asked that Mrs. Delaney return the call when she came back. That's all there was to it."

"Anything else you can tell me? Did Madame Jeanette leave a number?"

"No. I know it's not much to go on, but..."

"Rest assured, Mr. Delaney. I'm fairly certain that I can find your wife and most likely very much alive."

"Very good, Dylan. I'll be here all night. Call me if you need anything further."

"I'll do that and good night, Mr. Delaney."

I drove back down through the hills and that persistent fog. By the time I reached my office, it was nine-thirty. Finding Mrs. Delaney was going to be like tracking a hummingbird through a forest, which isn't easy, but I grabbed a classified directory and started digging. I checked the hairdressers, the manicurists, and the clothiers. I was about to start on the interior decorators when I remembered the horoscope on Norma's desk.

I quickly turned to the personal consultants and there it was, Madame Jeanette. Her establishment was located in a dubious neighborhood and turned out to be a tacky cottage set back next to an alley. It was as dark inside as it was out. I was pounding on the door like a vampire at sunrise when a newsboy came up the path.

"Hi ya, mister. You lookin' for Madame Jeanette?"

"Yes, I am. Do you know her?"

"Sure, she tells fortunes. Says I've got a great career line. You wanna see it?"

"Not right now, thanks. I'm guessing she's a sound sleeper."

"Maybe, but not so early as this. About this time, she's always hangin'-out at that bar around the corner and tonight she's throwing a farewell party over there."

"A farewell party? For whom?"

"Herself, she's leavin' town."

"Really? Thanks a lot, here kid."

Reaching in my pocket, I pulled out a greenback and handed it to him.

"A buck. Hey-ya, thanks, mister!"

With that, I walked around the corner and found a dingy little place. A faded sign above the door identified this as Uncle Charlie's Pub. I walked in and looked around. I saw a woman sitting at the bar and judging from her odd clothes, I figured she must be the one I was looking for.

"Give me another one, Charlie. It's not every night that I say goodbye to my dear old neighborhood."

"Let's see, that was a muscatel?"

"Yeah. That's right, Charlie."

She turned to the man sitting next to her. He was a funny-looking little man and reminded me of a weasel. He looked slick, a little too slick to be an honest citizen. I'd give you five to one odds, he was a bunko.

"Did I say dear old neighborhood, Pinky?"

"I believe you did, Jeanette."

"Well, I must have had one too many. 'Cause of all the flea-ridden row of shacks I ever lived in, this is a new low."

"Aw, Jeanette, that's no way to talk. You'll hurt my feelings."

"Well, Pinky, there ain't nothin' like a little alcohol to cure hurt feelings."

"You said it, Jeanette. Say, can I have another?"

"Sure. Hey Charlie, give Pinky another, but this is his last."

"The last? I thought you said it was a farewell party and you with all your dough..."

"That dough is to get me outta this rat trap of a town, ya see? I'm blowin' town and I ain't lookin' back. I don't ever want to see this city again in all my life!"

"Okay, okay. I hear ya, Jeanette."

"Another muscatel, Charlie."

"Right away, Jeanette."

The bartender turned his attention to me. "Say what'll it be, mister?"

"Something just a bit drier than muscatel, how 'bout a scotch?"

Jeanette moved close and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"It's on me, mister. It's my party."

"Well, well, this is indeed a pleasure. You're Madame Jeanette. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You're all of twenty years younger than what I expected."

"It's probably the life I lead. Hey, wait a minute. Why should you be expecting anything about me? I don't know you."

"Perhaps not, but I know you."

"From where?"

"Oh, you're more famous than you think. Your reputation has spread far beyond Alvera Street. In fact, it's gone as far up as the Palisades' hills, Madame Jeanette."

"No kiddin'?"

"How could I kid a fortune teller? Don't you know all, see all, and tell all?"

"Well..."

"Judging from that Spanish shawl, your Hungarian skirt, and those embroidered Persian slippers, I'm beginning to think your fame is not only local, but international."

"Say, you're beginnin' to make me think that I shouldn't give up this racket after all."

"Give up fortune-telling? No!"

"Yeah, I'm leavin' town on the midnight train. I'm gonna spread my talents all over the east and I'm not comin' back."

"Don't tell me your crystal ball has laid a golden egg."

"So to speak, yeah, it has. I recently came into some lettuce."

"That's always nice and I guess that means you wouldn't be interested in the few paltry hours I intended to spend with you."

"Well, a travelin' lady can always use a little extra mullah. What was it ya wanted, bud?"

"I'm looking for someone... Norma Delaney."

"Norma De-... I'm afraid I don't know anybody by that name."

"I'm afraid you do."

"Alright, mister, what's your angle? Just who are you anyway?"

"The name's Dylan... Jack Dylan and I'm a private detective."

"Some private dick you must be. Havin' to rely on fortune tellers..."

"Come on, Jeanette. Why don't you just look into that crystal muscatel and see if you can spot Norma Delaney for me?"

"I told ya once already. I don't know the dame. Now blow!"

"Just a minute, dark-eyes..."

"Hey, Charlie, this bird's crabbin' my party. What kind of a joint is this anyway? A lady can't sit here and have a farewell party without bein' insulted by every jerk that drops in."

Charlie, the barkeep, puffed himself up and looked at me.

"Well, mister?"

"I haven't finished my drink yet."

"You've got pockets ain't ya? Just pour the drink into one of 'em and take it along, 'cause you ain't finishing it here."

Charlie reached under the bar for his peacemaker. So I left without pursuing the subject any further. I knew Jeanette was lying right through her ruby-red crimson lipstick about Norma, but there was nothing I could do about that, at least not at the moment.

I shuffled to my car and lit a cigarette. I spent a few precious minutes deciding whether I should break into her place and snoop around. That's when I caught the shadow of a figure furtively slipping up on me from behind and I turned with my fists ready.

"Wait! Don't swing, Mack! It's only me, Pinky. I was in the bar when you was talkin' to the Madame. That tightwad, Jeanette."

"Yeah, I remember you. So?"

"She did somethin' the minute you left. I figured you might like to know what it was."

"That all depends."

"Well, I thought it might be worth somethin' to ya, like a sawbuck maybe."

"Come on, spill it, Pinky. If it's any good, it's worth a five-spot and no more."

"Alright, alright. She made a phone call."

"To whom? What did she say?"

"Nothing, just some swear words in Spanish. The line was busy, but I kept my eyes open and I got the number."

"Alright. Let's have it, if you can still remember it."

"I can remember easy, but the fiver first. Huh?"

"Here."

"Thanks. The number was Crenshaw 1929. Like the year of the big crash, ya get it?"

Thanks to an underweight lush, I wasn't at the end of my rope, yet. I drove as far as the nearest drug store and dropped a nickel in the slot. I dialed the number, Crenshaw and the year of the big stock market crash. Seconds later, a male voice responded.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Let me speak to Norma Delaney, please."

"Ah, I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

"Look, I'm trying to reach Mrs. Delaney and I suggest you help me."

"How did you get this number?"

"From a client, Mr. Delaney."

"That's impossible."

"Look, we'll save each other a lot of wear and tear if we get together and talk this over."

"Maybe you're right. It sounds sensible. I'm at the Beach Wood Apartments, number four."

"Very well, I'll be right out."

It didn't take long to get there. Before I went to the apartment, I checked the building's mail slots for a name. Sure enough, there it was. Apartment number four belonged to one Mr. Pierre Gillum.

I found the apartment and rang the buzzer. I heard footsteps approaching and the grate of the bolt as it slid out of the lock. The door opened.

"Mr. Pierre Gillum?"

"Yes, are you the man who called?"

"Yep, the name's Jack Dylan."

"Come in, won't you? You said you were looking for Norma Delaney. Tell me, is something wrong? Has anything happened to her?"

"Well, her husband thinks she may have killed herself, but I have a hunch that you might have something interesting to say."

"Oh, that poor kid. Say, I'll tell you what I can, Dylan, but it isn't much."

"I'm all ears."

"I was in love with Norma once, but only briefly, and that was long ago. She's a wonderful girl. Her husband, however, is insanely jealous. Even though she hadn't loved him for years, he's refused to give her up. On at least one occasion, he even threatened to kill her, rather than let her go. Norma and I realized that serious trouble lay ahead. So, we parted as good friends and I haven't seen her, or heard from her, in months."

"I buy it all, except for the last line. I know for a fact that you've seen or heard from her and recently too."

"I'm not gonna argue with you about that. I've told you the truth and you can take it or leave it."

"I leave it!"

"Suppose we both put our cards on the table, Dylan? You lied to me when you said Carl Delaney gave my number to you. I know, because Madame Jeanette called me shortly after you did."

"Touché, but why did she run to call you at the mention of Norma's name, if you two broke up months ago? And incidentally, how did Madame Jeanette get mixed up in all this, anyway?"

"That's a long story, Dylan."

"Good, I like long stories. I bet it begins with something like, as a lark, Norma and I once went down to Alvera Street to have our palms read."

"As a matter of fact, yes. That's exactly how it started. Madame Jeanette is an unusual woman. She's what you might call a real character. We became friendly with her and Norma got sentimental about it. One day, we made a sort of pact. If either of us were in trouble, we'd go to Madame Jeanette or get a message to her. She would notify the other and..."

"So when I walked in asking for Norma, the Madame assumed she was in trouble."

"Right. She called me immediately, because she's leaving town in less than an hour."

"Yes, I know. This is all very interesting, Mr. Gillum, but it's getting me no place. Thanks anyway and if I need you again..."

"Oh, wait! Dylan, don't go. I know many details about Norma that I'm sure will be helpful. For instance, she drives a powder blue Nash coupe. Also, she has a fondness for white gloves and wears them quite often."

"I see... Well, I'd better get moving."

"Wait just a minute, Dylan!"

"But I've got to go."

"Why not take it easy and stick around awhile?"

"Step away from the door, Mr. Gillum."

"Just who do you think you are? You come busting in here, prying and asking all sorts of questions."

That's when the little fellow tried to take a poke at me. I side-stepped it and he missed. However, I felt obligated to return the sentiment. So I did just that and left Gillum sprawled over his coffee table, limp as a five-cent salad.

I glanced at my watch. Madame Jeanette's train left in forty minutes. In total, I ran through twenty-one red lights driving to her cottage. I was sure Gillum's attempt to stall me was tied to her departure, but I couldn't figure out why. At least, I couldn't until I turned off my lights and coasted to a stop in front of her place.

That's when I saw it. Half-hidden, at the back of the house, sat a powder blue coupe. I walked up on the porch, close to the front door, and listened.

Jeanette was talking to a woman. I couldn't catch what they were saying, but one thing was certain. The woman was Norma Delaney.

All at once, I noticed the conversation had stopped. That was my cue. I shoved open the door and went in. Jeanette sat alone at a table, facing me.

"So Mr. Dylan, you've returned. What is it this time?"

"I'd like my fortune told."

"Oh, really? Then listen close, gumshoe. I'll make this a short and snappy reading, cause I'm catchin' a train in fifteen minutes. There's a woman, very close to you. In fact, she's right behind ya, sucker."

When I finally opened my eyes again, nothing had changed. It took me a long time to figure out all the lights were out and it was dark. I pulled myself up a table leg, hand over hand, and switched on the lamp. The house was absolutely quiet.

I'd caught a glimpse of a hand in a white glove and holding a blunt instrument just before I dozed off. That thought reminded me why I was there. I wobbled through the kitchen and out the back door, but the blue coupe was gone.

I glanced at my watch. It was twelve-fifteen. My head and the fog had both gotten a little thicker. So, I simply stood there, feeling about as useful as a ping pong ball in a bowling alley. The sound of footsteps roused me and I saw the newsboy was back.

"Well, hi again, mister. Did you ever get a hold of Madame Jeanette before she left?"

"Yeah, but not tight enough. Say, a blue coupe left here a few minutes ago. Did you see it?"

"Nope. I sure didn't, but ya know what? She gave me a buck tonight, too. Said she was coming into a fortune."

"Ha, you and your career line. Say, what's that, down there in between those weeds?"

"I don't know. It looks like some kind of shoe. Yeah, it's a shoe. See here?"

"How 'bout that? A Persian slipper."

I took the slipper as a souvenir and stumbled back to my sleek, little, black roadster. I pondered how Norma Delaney's hazel eyes fit in with that crack on the skull, but I couldn't. Between the throbs of my headache, I figured Pierre Gillum would know why Norma had dropped in on the Madame so close to train time. I decided to go back and ask him.

Gillum was as reliable as a two-headed quarter and just as tricky. So when I arrived at his apartment, I rang the buzzer, stepped back, and braced myself, but there was no fight left in him. When the door opened, he was wearing a robe and fingering the goose egg that I'd gave him earlier.

"So, you found the way out by yourself, eh?"

"That's right and I found my way back, too. Say Gillum, what was so important about Norma seeing Madame Jeanette just before her train left?"

"I don't know."

"You know enough that you tried to keep me here and delay me. Why?"

"Oh, Dylan. I did that for old time's sake, for a friend. Jeanette asked me to hold you here until midnight and I tried my best. Obviously, my best wasn't good enough. That's all I know about it."

"I see your phone is off the hook. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I took it off. It's given me nothing but trouble tonight and I hereby wash my hands of this whole business. I'm going to bed and I hope to get some sleep. Speaking of which, goodnight."

I left Gillum and went to find a telephone and call my client. He said he'd be in all night, but the phone just kept ringing and no one answered. That suddenly gave me a creeping suspicion.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of that small but elegant house. The lights were on and I saw that blue coupe in the garage. It was parked next to Carl's big black sedan.

I ran up the steps. The front door was ajar. So, I went in. I found Carl Delaney in front of the fireplace. He was face down on the floor... dead.

A woman's handbag occupied one chair. So I opened it. I found a compact, a pack of cigarettes, and a key to room 340 at the Bradford Arms Hotel. I didn't find any identification or driver's license. As I set the bag back where I had found it, I noticed that color portrait of Norma was now standing up on the little table and those hazel eyes watched me walk all the way to the telephone.

"Hello, Lieutenant Wallace speaking."

"Wallace, it's Jack Dylan. There's a dead one at 1077 Holley Crest Road, named Carl Delaney, and he's been murdered."

"I should have known. Leave it to you, Jack. Only you could ruin a perfectly quiet night on my beat. Well, I'll be right out."

I hung up the squawk box and the hair on the back of my neck crawled as I heard the unmistakable sound of a woman's heels on the floor upstairs. Ducking behind a door, I listened to those heels as they clicked down the steps and she entered the room.

Norma Delaney was lovely, even more lovely than her picture. She moved calmly and deliberately, placing a note on the table and picking up the handbag. Then she turned to face the door, behind which I was hiding.

"You can come out now, Mr. Dylan."

"Hello, Mrs. Delaney."

"You can call me Norma and if you're thinking of using your gun, perhaps you'll be good enough to read this note first."

---

To whom it may concern,

I, Norma Delaney, purposefully and with premeditation shot and killed my husband, Carl. Please, allow me to express how deeply I hate my sins. I must pay for this. Since I can not endure a public spectacle, I shall take my own life within the next few minutes.

Regretfully,

Norma Jean Delaney

---

As I finished reading the note, I glanced at Mrs. Delaney only to find a pistol in that dainty hand and pointed in my direction!

"Now wait a minute, Norma. There's no need for a gun."

"Easy, Dylan. I'll kill you if necessary. I'm free from him at last and I want to spend the little time I have left in my own way."

"No, Norma! Listen to me..."

"Stay back, Dylan. Tonight I made my only friend, Jeanette, very happy. I also killed a man who needed killing. I did something good and something bad. So now I'm quitting, even up."

"What do you propose to do with me?"

"You mustn't try to stop me, Dylan. See that closet?"

"Yeah, I see it and I'm guessing it's a good thing that I'm not claustrophobic."

"That's right. Now get inside and careful how you move your hands."

Having no better alternative, I slowly stepped into the small closet.

"Turn around and face the wall, please."

In the darkness, I heard the key grate in the lock.

"Dylan, I'm sorry I had to hit you at Jeanette's tonight. I hope you'll forgive me and goodbye."

It took only one swift kick to smash the lock on that closet door and I heard a car driving away just as I got it open. Despite what she'd said or done, I couldn't let Mrs. Delaney kill herself. I immediately dashed to my roadster.

One glance under the hood was all I needed. Nothing remained of the wiring but loose ends. I bounded into the street and that's when a miracle happened. For the first time in my life, there was a taxi when I wanted it.

"Outside, fella. I'm on a call."

"This is an emergency."

"Hey, wait a minute. You can't..."

"This is police business. A girl is driving up the road in a blue coupe. We have to catch up before she kills herself. Now, let's go!"

Seconds later, we were speeding along the winding curves. That worn old cab bucked and weaved through the hills and night fog. Briefly, a dim flash of two scarlet lights flickered up ahead.

"I think I see the tail lights, buddy."

"Yeah, that's the car. Say, can't you go any faster?"

"Not on these curves, buster. I got a wife and kids..."

"Okay, driver. Soon we'll be at the top of the hill and we can get around the next bend. We should spot her then."

"Yep, you can see the whole road down the other side."

The car surged up the hill with surprising acceleration. As we climbed to a higher altitude, the fog cleared. Our view of the countryside was painted silver and gray in the moonlight.

"Here we go, mister. This is the top."

"Yeah, but I don't see her. Where's the car? Hey, wait a minute. Turn off here. Something's not right."

"I don't get it. We were gaining on her, but she just disappeared."

"You hear that? It's the sound of an engine! That side road we passed, look!"

"Holy smoke!"

For just an instant, we both saw that awful scene. The blue coupe, with a woman crouched over the wheel, shot out of the side road. It smashed through the guard rail and crashed, end over end, into the steep and rocky gorge. By the time we reached that edge of the road, the wreck was already a flaming inferno.

"No use trying to get down there. The whole hillside will be a blaze in a minute. Once the fire reaches those pines, they'll go up like gasoline."

"Apparently, she pulled off on that side road and waited for us to pass by, and we did."

I crossed the highway and ventured down that side road. The cab driver followed close at my heels. There were tire tracks in the soft shoulder.

"Say, it's kinda soggy here, pal. I'm surprised she didn't get stuck."

"There's something buried here in the sand. One of the tires must have run over it."

"What is it?"

"Oh, it's plenty, brother. Quick, turn that hack of yours around and let's get off this hill. I just found the answer to a pile of questions."

Police sirens wailed and tires screeched as Detective Wallace of the city's homicide department arrived on the scene. In a flash, he was out of the car and sprinted toward us. He placed his hand against his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the moon.

"Is that you, Dylan?"

"Yeah, Wallace. It's me."

"We found the body and the wife's suicide note. Then one of the boys spotted that fire up on the hill. So I came out here. What caused it, Jack?"

"A car went off the road."

"An accident or a suicide?"

"A little of both, but we'll talk later. Right now, we must go to the Bradford Arms Hotel on the double and please, no sirens."

The Bradford was a three-story walk-up. Upon our arrival, Wallace stationed one man in front, sent another to cover the back, and we sprinted up the stairs. We'd just reached the second floor when I glimpsed Gillum on the landing above, but he spotted us first and turned back fast.

"That's our man, Wallace! There he goes."

Gillum raced up the stairs to the third floor and into the hall. Wallace was close behind him as Gillum moved down the corridor toward an emergency exit at the end. I chose to move in the opposite direction and called out to Wallace.

"He's heading for the fire escape. Get him, Wallace! He's all yours. I have business the other way."

I walked slowly, checking the room numbers as I went along. 334, 336, 338, and then I stood before the door to room 340. It was not locked. So I entered.

"It's all over now, you can drop the gun."

There was no response.

"Please! It's been neat so far. Don't mess it up."

Still, the woman with the pistol did not respond.

"Come on, beautiful. Drop it."

That shiny chrome weapon hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

"That's better."

Then Wallace walked into the room behind me.

"I got our man Dylan. I had to wing him to bring him down, but we got him. And this lady must be..."

"The lady is Norma Delaney. The girl who killed her jealous husband and wanted to commit suicide, but didn't want to die doing it. So, she used someone else's body, Madame Jeanette's. That was a logical choice, because Jeanette was blackmailing her. Thus, she'd eliminate two vultures with one stone and it would leave two love birds free to fly away together. Isn't that right, Norma? You gave Jeanette enough hush money to leave town and tell everybody that she was going away."

"Yes, I did."

"That way, the body wouldn't be missed. Yes, everything would be wrapped up in a pretty package."

"You're a funny guy, Jack Dylan. You're nice, but you're hard to handle. I should have killed you... or married you."

"I very much doubt either option would have made you any happier, Mrs. Delaney."

I turned my attention to Wallace.

"Well, Wallace, I've got a sour taste in my mouth. I think I'll go home and gargle. Anything else you'll need?"

"No, I guess not, Jack. I have all that's necessary. Oh, wait. Just tell me one more thing. How did you get inside this setup? How did you discover it was Madame Jeanette that went over the cliff, instead of the very much alive, Mrs. Delaney here?"

"You see, Jeanette had on a pair of Persian slippers. One fell off at the cottage where Norma murdered her and put her in the trunk. The other one fell off in the sand on that side road when she removed Jeanett's corpse from the trunk and propped it behind the wheel. It was luck, Wallace, just dumb luck."

I decided to take a walk back to my office, a long walk. In the thin fog and the dark, empty streets, a pair of hazel eyes and Persian slippers haunted my thoughts. For some reason, I kept thinking that a pair of Persian slippers has two soles and two heels. Looking at them, it's hard to tell exactly where one becomes the other.

- TERMINUS LIBRI-