'Rorschach' and the foot and nose episode

Do you remember the foot episode Rorschach? I mean, you, there, in the fish-eyed and doubly aberrant photographed near-present, do you remember my wing-tipped leather shoe and what you did to it? I remember. This is what you did. You did something cute. I'm somewhat confused on that point. You did something you made cute, that, all in all, is a more suitable qualifier (quantifier?). Anyhow, this is what you did: you fucked my shoe with your nose. This was a year ago, almost. I had bought these shoes the same day, at a thrift store (where that cute, but rather too tall shop-clerk was jealous they fit me and not her) and they went well with my brown Levi's, though they made me feel awkward, like I shouldn't be keeping up my jeans so well, like my shirt shouldn't be so imaculate, like I should be living in a loft somewhere in northern Mile-End, and failing beautifully at print-media or something similar. They made me feel like I was a 2002 alumni of a Toronto art's high-school. But I liked them anyway. I am detracting from my subject, i.e. You. So you were fucking my shoe with your nose. I was told your nose had herpes, which it no longer showed symptoms of. I didn't mind. Your nose is, was, quite lovely, inquisitive, personal, engrossed and probing, like a fluffy little alien. It was as if you wanted to carnally, intricately KNOW the nature of my shoe. Something like licking a pig to check on the quality of the bacon. That's disgusting. But you, little buddy, were not. My shoe enjoyed it, and so did I, and it made me a center of some attention, which I also didn't mind. He likes your damn shoe, eh the girls said. Oh yes. I was just starting out then, as a reformed David Bradford,  a Good Guy, and you made me feel welcome, like a gentle olfactory good omen. You then did the same to my hand. What a lovely little kitten you were. All this explains why I got you all nice and free from that chair you got all tangled and crazy in before skidding off to your own private no-man's land under the bed. I did it out of gratitude. Strange, subconscious gratitude. I remember discussing things I was wholeheartedly wrong about with the girls, while we waited, all three of us, for you to come out and play at that special brand of nosiness once more.What a plain little cute guy you were, growing into your name. You were whatever I wanted you to be; that was an allowance on your part. Thanks.