You tickle your new sole and laugh.
"I think I'll walk barefoot through the grass," you announce and begin to untie your shoe.
Your new barefoot twitches a bit, as if the protester is trying to break free from your leg. That's not going to happen. You chuckle. With your single shoe dangling from your hand by its shoestrings and your sock hanging out of the shoe, you begin to walk through the grass obliquely to the protesters and police conflict.
The wet grass feels cool and grassy under your feet. You enjoy the smell of the grass too. The last time you walked barefoot through the grass was before you left for your tour in Iraq two years ago. You never thought it could feel this good. As you look around the daylit park and smile, you come to an abrupt stop. Something warm and mushy oozes through your toes and overwhelms your foot. The scent rising from your foot's intrusion confirms what you already suspect. You have walked into a fresh dog turd. You look down at the mess coming up to your ankle.
"Great Dane or St. Bernard," you mutter as you stare in disgust.
Suddenly, your lips turn up and you start to chuckle. You just realized that the foot in question used to be the protester.