Meanwhile, this is a real poser: Yesterday morning I looked down and saw that my left shoe was coming apart. All I could do was hope to make it through the day without the whole thing falling to pieces. Thanks to a merciful God, I survived. But when I got home I noticed that somehow during the day my right shoe had started coming apart in the exact same way. How does one shoe know that the other has died? And more to the point, how does one shoe decide to commit sympathetic suicide at the loss of its partner? Until now I have always thought of my shoes as mute, unthinking companions on the sidewalk of life. And now it turns out that, apparently, they are not merely self-conscious but conscious at the very least of one another. Who knows the full reach of their grasp?
I will never look at my shoes the same way again.
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