For now, I'll post the first paragraph of a short story I recently wrote to whet your appetite:
"The road wasn’t on the map but Gale Kringlebot, of the wealthy Manhattan Kringlebots, walked along its dusty, bumpy spine. His brown cowboy boots jangled loudly - a result of the gleaming silver spurs on their heels - and bit into his pinky toes. His normal New York stride slowed to a wincing teeter as he tried to walk on the inside arches of his feet to take the pressure off his last little toes. The nostalgia that constantly ricocheted around in his chest hit especially hard as he thought about the black alligator-skin shoes he would be slipping on right now if he were back in the city, instead of here, in the middle-of-nowhere Nevada. As he stumbled over a rock camouflaged by the dusty red dirt swirling up around him, Gale nearly cursed – “Son-of-a-!” - and vowed to talk to his father about the ill-fitting boots; his father would see to it that the shoemaker’s reputation plummeted like the stocks he was currently advising investors to hoard up fast, before they took to the rebound."