He sat in the T. Tailored gray pinstrip suit, and a fashionable cashmere scarf; highlighted by a baby pink hanky peeking out of his chest pocket. His perfectly polished shoes standing defiantly out against the dreary, dirty, frankly disgusting floor of the train.
She sat across from him. Fedora, bright red kurti top and an armful of jingles and jangles. Beads, bangles and a boy watch. Everything seemed a part of her outfit- part of the “me” she was portraying. But her shoes.
The shoes were a leather flat with a rubber sole. Not brand name, not particularly fashionable. Just a beat up pair of flats. The sole was peeling off on ends, there were cracks in the leather. But it fit her foot so perfectly. Hugged the sides like a second skin, but looked as though they might fall off any minute. They held a history, a story, a…
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