Barefoot

[franceslievens]

The lonely, wet gloves on the pavement I get, as I do the fallen scarves and umbrellas thrown away. What I don't understand is a shoe, lieing in the middle of the road, on my way to singing class. It's a white loafer, worn by women and female children. It doesn't come with a leg attached to it, or traces of coliding cars. It's simply there: the remnant of someone crossing the street, but not completely making it. If it were a more attractive shoe I'd make up a Cinderella-story. But not this shoe. It only signals arguments gone out of hand, and a Turkish mother throwing her footware at the Portuguese neighbours.