You pride yourself— a halo crowning your head in a perfumed portrait envied enough to start a stampede at auction. But what remains of you? A Rolex sentinel, keeping watch for unsung heroes to mark with its arrow of charm— and behold: another bargain struck, another back bent beneath boulders, the workhorse harnessed for a red-cheeked Spartan's triumph. A Gucci bag large enough for your ego, yet too small to contain your taffeta-gold morals. And those red stilettos— mocking things, despised by the pavement that bears them, the concrete cracking its patience in silent tantrums. What remains of you when the halo is pawned, the watch unwound, the leather split at the seams, and the heels fall quiet?