Some years ago, I was sitting at a curb watching people mill around at an event--I don't remember what it was anymore. I turned to study the pavement's wrinkles (and shimmer, I think, the sand?) and I noticed a pair of sneakers near the ground in front of me. I studied it for a bit, glad the owner stood still. Interesting, I thought. (The guy) Must be one of those rockstar-artist types--while the rest of the yuppie universe kept their shoes clean, he must have had a grand time doodling on the toe guards.
The shoes walked away. I resumed my ground-staring.
A few months ago I saw the shoes again, this time with their owner. Or should I say, this time I met their owner first before I saw them again.
I know those shoes, I thought, trying to remember. I've seen them before.
As I smiled at my labidabs I told him why he should thank his shoes.