These shoes have seen much and been many places. They have trod the grounds of farmlands, city streets, foreign countries, and lain for weeks in dusty corners of the messiest of rooms. Along their edge, there are loose threads where pressure broke them free from their tight-laced places during a short sprint int he cold away from certain harm and doom. Along the face are deeply worn ridges from careful steps taken in holy, sacred places, and things taken from top shelves when toes were stood upon. The laces, frayed at the edges from wearing against the ground are tied forever into knots - having been untied and tied again they formed their own rebellion - hugging closely together to keep themselves from ever being torn apart again. So now their owner kicks them off, the left shoe knocks against the wall. Another scuff writes itself upon the deep mahogany surface. The leather relaxes, trying to come back from the form they have been stretched into. They are worn and dirty, cracked and scuffed, fraying around the edges.

Their owner pulls a box from a bag which the old shoes had brought this far. He opens it. The smell of new leather fills the room, and the shiny new shoes slide onto his feet.

The old shoes, to this day, are up agianst that wall. Forgotten and unloved, their life lived to its fill.