I am lounging on my porch, relaxed and untouchable, while you sit there thinking about how pathetic you are. You live to buy me shoes, a tiny little loser who spends his money on my feet, and guess what, I have never once returned the favor.
I slip on my new running shoes and watch you squirm as I tease every detail, the brand, the fresh scent, the way they look on my feet. You will beg to worship them, to be useful, and I will keep you wanting more, humiliating you with every slow, deliberate step I take.