DIGITIGRADE

She had toes the colour of new five-cent pieces. It was after all that dancing, after all. She unbound her feet beside an open window, blowing in the high forgotten winds of winter. Deep down there, in the streets below, the streets were clogged with people. The trains had stopped running around lunchtime, giving birth to a new stranded urban population. She watched them: they were nothing but dots, charges in a quivering molecule. She felt her heat begin to dissipate, began to crave a thick shawl. Flexed her toes, one by one, reacquainting.