"Your job is to give an old guy a coronary by flexing them and using the light to exaggerate their wrinkles. He's watching on from a waiting lounge - or wherever - pretending not to notice you. Your cruel youth is going to him. Such is life - you can't handle it anymore, old man. Their soft, almost nubile pale puffiness, slick scent and sweaty essence is to be flaunted outrageously, constantly exposing the soles, splaying more than scrunching as that creates wrinkles down the entire length of your feet. You decide to go sit on a seat near to him, lying down with your soles out, perched on t... Show more