There are many smart, nice, talented people who happen to have feet like dinosaurs. And it causes them great embarrassment when their feet keep elevator doors from closing, or when they have to stand sideways on the escalator, or stick their legs out the sunroof. Dog whimpered and scratched at the massive boot. Flakes of dried mud fell onto the floor. Homer, still crouching, thought that he might be able to slide the coin free with his Swiss army knife, before the boot’s owner even noticed. But just when he reached into his pocket, a hissing noise issued from somewhere overhead. He squinted as a lantern lit up the row of seats. “Do you like sitting on the floor?” a baritone voice asked. “I sit on the floor when I’m feeling too sad to sit on the couch. When I’m extra sad I take long walks. Nighttime is the best time for a long sad walk.” Homer tilted all the way back to get a full view of the speaker. Up, up, up she went—an expanse of black cape that ended near the ceiling where her head happened to be.
