Random Acts of Shoes

I did it!! I bought a car. I'm somebody. Somebody in debt for the next five years, but somebody all the same. I already have road rage, too. I'm so Californian. Her name is Jamie. Jamie Jetta. I named her after the salesman. Isn't she cute?

On my last day of bus riding, I stumbled (literally) over these shoes just sitting there on a sidewalk along Sunset Blvd as if the wearers had just lost them in midstride. As a big fan of the "sneakers on the powerline" mystery, I had to wonder who loses a shoe, a boot even, and doesn't go back to pick it up? Perhaps they were on the run, or up to no-good somehow and didn't want to attract attention. I remember walking through Stroud Mall one day wearing underpants that had lost their elastic and were slowly but surely slipping down my thighs. I kept praying that they'd stay above the knee and not slip below the hem of my skirt, because my hands were full and I couldn't stop to pull them up without attracting attention. I thought to myself, "if they fall off, just step out and keep on walking" because how much more embarrassing would it be to stop, put down the things I was carrying and pick up my pantaloons. Luckily, I made it to my office at the movie theater where I could tactfully pull up my britches and secure them with a pin. No, I was not wearing hose.

The circles mark the shoes.