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She can’t run anymore.  It isn't clear why.  In fact, it isn't clear she had ever been able to run.  Not really.  Maybe she shouldn't have run.  Ever.  Never run.  Could be.  Now the possibility is being removed.  Had been halfway removed.  She was losing skin.  Her foot was a snake shedding skin.  Too tight.  A snake that can’t run.  But snakes can’t run, can they?  No.  They’d given up their feet eons ago.  Their entire legs, gone.  But she had only lost…
She woke up to the feeling of something tugging off one of her boots.  She kicked, hard.  The thing or sensation or person stopped.
She leapt up.  Stood up lopsided with one boot gone.  She saw someone wriggling under the cart that walled in her hideaway.  She scrambled in pursuit.
“Boot!  Damn boot thief!”  She could see the footwear tucked beneath the culprit’s arm.  An arm that slithered through thin crowds and was quickly disappearing.
The pursuit exited the market quickly and took several dark turns.  A night lit by a half moon and an occasional feeble street lamp.  A final turn brought her to a stage surrounded by gawking onlookers.  A quick look and her direction was lost.  The boot burglar now nothing but a venomous memory.
She took off her other boot and set it on the ground.  “No use for one boot.”