jim banyard, a cobbler's cobbler

jim banyard lifted the heavy hammer and brought it down hard on the leather covered anvil. he repositioned the tanned hide and brought the hammer down again, sending a loud “thwank” that reverberated off the tool strewn walls of the darkened workshop. the aging cobbler spent the rest of the evening of december 12 1862 feverishly working on his latest masterpiece. he was putting the final stitching on the smooth elk hide garosh when he noticed the shards of light that were beginning to penetrate the cracks of the old workshop. he held the pair of half calf wellington boots up in the golden beams of the early morning light and a tired smile crossed his face as he realized he had worked through the night. real passion can do that to a man. jim had this feeling once before when he had come up with a revolutionary new design for mrs. bouliette’s birthday, a low cut marvel with a checked fawn upper that flowed into the tow with a lace trimmed enchantment that would send shivers up your spine. that little number had made him the toast of tea circles for weeks, not to mention the business that it brought in. he hadn’t been this inspired in years, and he took in the new feeling like a street junkie on bathtub smack. jim opened the heavy wooden doors and felt the warmth of the early morning sun on his face. the small town was still in a state of slumber but soon the dusty streets would come to life and would be bristling with business. “may take a few days for word to spread about me new design” the old cobbler thought, “but spread it will, like skank rash on a hooker’s bum.” jim banyard walked across brighton street to potter’s eatery. “well a good morn’n to ya sir” the elderly woman said as jim took a seat at the counter. “aye a good morn it is, a coffee if ya don’t mind please.” jim took out 2 coins and sat them softly on the counter as the old woman filled his cup. “the old woman doesn’t realize it yet” jim thought with a smirk, “but she’s now lookin’ at the famous cobbler to abe lincoln’s personal chef.” chef jeremiah dubois had greatly admired the two toned elk hide wellington boots, but had been given a blister on his heel after a drunken night of ballroom dance that eventually became infected, killing the president’s chef at the age of 47. jim banyard died of pneumonia the next fall. today, on the very ground where the old cobbler’s shop once stood, is downtown new jersey’s premier adult book store. A small sign in the blacked out window reads, “the new pocket vagina is here.”

3 comments:

Perfect Virgo said...

I've been padding around in a pair of BA Club Class in-flight slipperettes lately and they're beginning to chafe. You've got me worried.

Natsthename said...

"like skank rash on a hooker’s bum." There's pay dirt for you!

finnegan said...

Yeah, my calfskin jockstrap has worn out its welcome---giving me an itch that my cat can't even comfort.