chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

the shoes…

black shoesDouglas could not recall shopping for shoes. The shoes had lived at the foot of his bed for as long as he could remember, the two identical pairs side by side, black oxfords, polished to a deep gloss. He supposed his mother must have bought them, must have measured his foot with a glance, replaced each pair when it became hopelessly worn and would no longer take a shine. He always knew which ones to wear, the pair on the left reserved for the holy days.

A man needed only two pairs of shoes. His mother had been firm on this subject and many others. A man must not be concerned with haberdashery, she would say, using that curious word.

But today, as Douglas looked at the two pairs of shoes, even he could see that something was wrong. One shoe was lying on its side, bits of grass stuck to the sole, the toe of its mate crusted with mud. He stood confused at the foot of his bed, looking down, and then over at the door of his bedroom, which stood open as it had last night and every other night of his 33 years…
—–
black shoes

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