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Portia went back to pretending to read her paper as she continued to wiggle her toes and rub her feet against one another. Twenty minutes had passed, and Portia was getting bored. Her feet were attracting attention from everyone but who she was attempting to attract, as there was no sign of the foot painter. She even had to shoo away a couple of squirrels and stray dogs who had come over to harass her active feet. After an hour, Portia was beginning to think that maybe her stakeout wasn�t such a good idea. There was a slight breeze, making it just comfortable enough for Portia to start nodding off. Suddenly, Portia felt an excruciating tickling sensation at her soles. She gasped and quickly succumbed to laughter. The sensation felt the same as it did last night and was absolutely paralyzing. She could do nothing but spread her toes in agony and take her punishment. While she writhed around on the bench she wondered why no one was coming to help her. When the tickling stopped, she, again, felt the wetness coat her soles. As Portia was able to open her eyes, struggling to collect herself, she saw a teenage boy on the ground in front of her wearing a yellow backpack, looking as though he�d stumbled to the ground trying to make his escape. Ah, the culprit finally shows himself. Portia was surprised at how young he was. He couldn�t have been any older than seventeen. The kid scrambled to his feet and took off running. Portia managed to pull herself off the bench, grab her sandals and chase after him, laving a trail of size 11 yellow footprints behind her. |
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