This is not just any shoe. It comes from my favourite pair. Puma, by Jil Sander. I bought them in New York about 4 years ago for $295, at a store called Jonathan (I think), on W 14th St (I think). They have never aged or dated.
I told B about this on the phone and his first reaction was "What did you take and where did you go?".
I told M about this at work and his first reaction was "Ah ... yes ... my Grandfather used to regularly return home from the Serviceman's club wearing only one shoe".
How can I describe how it feels to have all this respect? 'Blessed' comes to mind.
I checked my bag 3 times to be sure.
Oh I know. I'm sorry. This is really boring. But I'm just so disappointed. I need to let it out. Bottling this up inside, burying it deep, covering it in a layer of beer ... it's too dangerous. Who knows when or how it will come out? I can imagine myself 65, one day suddenly putting on bright red pumps and heading off for the train and never realising why. Never even realising how the pumps got into my cupboard in the first place. This is known in consulting as a 'suboptimal outcome'.
This was not misadventure by valium. Or drinking. This was poor packing.
I packed this bag on the evening of 9/11, which would be the morning in NY time. This date is now responsible for two significant New York related tragedies in eight years.
