My shoes are scattered in my truck.
I don’t plan for that.
My days catch-up to me.
I don’t want to be caught.
My boss is miserable.
I call him “my boss”, because he belongs to me, like a slave, while I am the master.
My shoes carry me where I need to go—golfing, running, and working, and not necessarily in that order.
I am different in different places.
My coworkers are the same. Their shoes are scuffed.
I change clothes, shoes, personalities, constantly.
My best self is hidden, completely.
I need to hide.
My magic is the last light from the sun—it glows brightly, beneath the horizon.
Intellectual Shaman 
Nice. Especially the shoe and slave-boss bit. Thanks!
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Agreed! That clever line about “my boss” caught me too.
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Yes, I enjoyed writing that!
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Ha Ha! 🙂 –From the Shadow Man.
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Oh, I really like this reworking of the “everyone wears a mask” idea. Lots of really clever things here.
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Thanks, Bridgette!
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