A great advantage of having lived a for few summers already is that you can imagine August heat even if there is no heat in August. Another wondrous accompaniment of summer is the appearance of human feet. As every year, I notice how much more vulnerable feet look than the rest of their owners. Much more than hands, which are often used to fend off, hide, manipulate, and so on. Hands, for most people, are tools with their own role in building and maintaining a persona. By comparison, feet are innocent by–standers. In northern countries, they are hidden most of the year; feet are busy are fighting fungi and maintaining their straight shape against the fierce interest of fashion, or poverty, or neglect. I spend a fair amount of traveling time on the tube and on the street looking at feet. From my observations I deduce pains, passions, and predilections of the person attached to a pair of feet. Some I’ve heard place more trust in the reading of butts, but people are more peculiar about their butt than about their hooves. Some of the feet I encounter I’d like to shake as if they were hands, like saying welcome. Others make me feel sad, and I don’t even know why. I’m not even going to start with toenail polish here. Whoever said that I eyes are the window of the soul, evidently paid no heed to the heels. Enjoy the basement views.