M3C17 - Stole Boots

He was a big guy. He wore a long buff-colored coat over tight white pants that stopped below the knee. His hair was white. Of course, I thought, that’s a wig. Rich people or important people all wore wigs in those days. These days.

George Washington. Father of the country.

“You know who that is?” Marco asked.

He’d sidled up beside me, out of nowhere.

<Jeez, Marco. How long have you been here?>

“Got here about five minutes ago, dude. Heard you calling. Couldn’t answer, though. I’d already demorphed.”

I turned my big horse head to aim one eye at him. <Where’d you get the clothes?>

“Not exactly clothes,” Marco muttered. “A blanket with a hole for the head. The boots are cool, though.”

<Where did you find boots?>

He shrugged. “You think it’d change the course of history much if George Washington was to lose his extra pair of boots?”

<You stole George Washington’s shoes?>

“Hey, it’s freezing, all right? Not all of us happen to be horses at the moment.”

I heard someone make a not-too-subtle remark about lunatics joining the ranks.

<Marco, stop talking to me. People are noticing. They think you’re nuts.>