A lip of rubber has lifted. It catches when you walk across the kitchen. You kick off the scuffed white low-top by the Doorstep Bench, prodding the loose edge with the tip of your sock to see how far it pulls away from the canvas upper. A crumb of dried sidewalk dirt falls out from…
The bow is a hard lump. Your fingernail cannot find an end. You’re still hunched on the cinder block step outside your apartment, the hem of your rain jacket dripping dark spots onto the toe of the left canvas sneaker. Illustrative example: the laces stayed soaked through even after you stood under the building awning…
The plastic tip is gone. The lace end is a fuzz that will not pass the hole. You shift your weight on the Doorstep Bench, one foot still in the scuffed white canvas low-top you’re wearing, the other bare on the welcome mat. A light rain started 10 minutes ago while you were out walking…
The lace broke in your hand at the door. You are already late. Your keys are jangling in your other palm, fat cold raindrops are spotting the welcome mat three inches from the toe of your scuffed white sneaker, and the broken end of the lace curls like a crumpled thread against your thumb. This…
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