The Lone Shoe

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It was lying on its side, a black leather shoe, in the middle of the street. I happened to glance out the window of the taxi and there it was, the lone shoe, looking distressed at being left midstream in the 9 o’clock traffic rush.

How did it get there, I wonder. Was there an accident in the early morning hours where some lady got hit by a car, thrown with such force her shoes flew off? If so, where was the other shoe? Or maybe the shoe was one of a pair that fell off from a hastily zipped gym bag, and the owner, an early morning gym freak, is at this moment wondering where is that shoe, now that she needs to change from trainers to office-appropriate footwear. Or maybe that shoe belonged to some lady who had a fight with her husband as they were driving to work, and she got so vexed with him that in mid-sentence, she took off her shoe and began hitting him with it. Maybe the husband grabbed it from her and lobbed it out the window, and it landed in the middle of the street, where it is being run over and over again by uncaring cars. The shoe looks fairly new, though it’s hopelessly misshapen now.

It must be thinking, “Now that I am ruined, my partner might as well be dead too, for what’s the use of one shoe?”


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