by Lucca Dattilo
Reason is not necessarily needed in the young artist's toolbox; passion, however, is essential. He had it now, that profound kind of passionate indignation that brings your blood to a boil. It was selfless indignation on behalf of another, not a person, but a thing. Not a thing, but things. Weathered leather boots sat nestled between plastic pentagrams and novelty ripped jeans in the storefront window. He felt these boots were veterans of old things, real things, that laid beneath the cheap white plaster of teenage life. So with a thieves' hands and a poet's heart, he stole the shoes.