I can feel bodies pressing against mine, and I can barely see between the blur of faces. The footprint expands, and my heart pounds. Heat rises up to my head, as people laugh, and take pictures. They all wonder whose footprint it is, and I wonder if they could take the time to notice me, let me walk through. I am not special, important at but a small part of me wonders if that is true. Why do I need to be noticed? Why should people care? Because they are my footprints, that’s why.