Tomorrow’s Pair

You feel a click on the hard floor. You turn the shoe over. The faint, jagged edge of river rock peeks out between two thick rubber lugs, dull gray against the matte black tread of your right hiking boot. You’re still balanced on one foot outside your apartment unit, the left boot still laced tight…

You wore the same shoes yesterday and the day before. The second pair is under the chair. You toe off your scuffed everyday sneakers right now, toes curling in the cool entryway air, and bend to grab the pair tucked under the hall chair. The rubber soles are still damp from when you ran through…

You need one pair for the office and the sky is already grey. Both pairs are in reach. You hook a finger through the loop of the rain shoe first, then pause, remembering your 10 AM presentation with the regional leadership team that expects business casual attire. A fat drop of rain hits the welcome…

Two pairs are by the door. You press a finger into each toe box. The knit running shoes squelch a little under your touch, water beading at the seam where the upper meets the recycled rubber sole. The leather Chelsea boots are damp along the ankle cuff, no obvious wet spots lower down, but you…