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Some of the demonstrations I do can turn kinky. As I said previously, I stole her shoes. For me, it’s all about the shoes. Sure I masturbate, but is that against the law? I asked her. She nodded her head yes. She even allowed me to finish anywhere I wanted. Now, tell me, with that kind of consent where does a courtroom get the right to question mature adults?
     
    I waited until they got me to my feet and then I flipped out.
     
    “You got the wrong guy!” I screamed. I turned to the wall and pulled the fire alarm with my front teeth.
     
    “I didn’t do anything—”
     
    It was probably getting close to four in the morning. The cops were super pissed that I had caused so much of a raucous. They jumped on me and threw a couple punches in too. Then suddenly I felt their combined weight leave my back.
     
    Something poked me in the ass cheek. I have never felt anything in my life quite as horrifying and exhilarating as being tased. I flopped and bounced on the floor like a dying cockroach. I pissed myself and begged for it to stop.
     
    They hit me again.
     
    My neighbor opened their door at the sound of the fire alarm and the cop turned his lightning rod off.
     
    Within minutes they had me on my feet and were escorting me, carrying me to the waiting prisoner van.
     
    I felt special. A whole van just for me.
     
    Assholes.
     
    I was booked and placed in a holding cell. The next morning they brought me in front of a judge who felt, based on what they had already found at the crime scene, that I was a flight risk. I was ordered held until trial.
     
    That was eight months ago. Since then, I have festered in this rat hole. I can’t sell anymore Kirby’s and I can’t collect anymore shoes.
     
    I’ve often seen a prison guard with a great pair of Reebok’s, but the bars hold me back. I still masturbate, but it’s not as much fun.
     
    In my eight months waiting for trial, I’ve written to shoe companies to receive their mail order catalogs, but my mail is inspected before it gets to me. I asked what harm there was in perusing picture catalogs. I went so far as to explain that they were my form of pornography. But still, the guards won’t let me have them.
     
    There’s one more part that I have to cover before I leave this note for whoever finds it.
     
    They gave me legal aid. I got a lawyer to talk to me two days after being incarcerated. His name was Delroy Conrad. He said he could get me off. I remember saying some half-assed comment like, “Oh really ”. He didn’t like my attitude.
     
    Another asshole.
     
    Anyway, he’s arriving here in ten minutes so I’m going to sum this up.
     
    I didn’t kill Mrs. Gavin. I touched her rolling pin and meat tenderizer. I touched her kitchen and bathroom. I even touched her, but that was because she offered consent. I stole her shoes. I have broken the law. But I didn’t kill her.
     
    Someone was either in the house with me at the time and murdered her moments after my departure, or someone entered the house as soon as I left.
     
    It wasn’t me.
     
    I love shoes. They’re my religion. They’re what drive me. But not any shoes. They can’t be store bought. They have to have been worn by a woman. I love men’s shoes, but not in the same way.
     
    That is what it’s all about.
     
    Shoes.
     
    #
     
    We hope you enjoyed this excerpt. You can find this story and many more wherever Jonas Saul books are sold.
     

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