Squeaky Shoes
Today, I ran into an old friend.
It was a strange, how something as simple as going on a toilet paper run could bring you to something as complicated as a blast from the past. Just a plain old Sunday in a plain old Wal-Mart, and a particularly wet parking lot that made my shoes squeaky. I hated squeaky shoes, ever since the 7th grade, when I owned a pair of sneakers that sounded like ducks even when they weren’t wet. I had often been stared at, and I had relied on the noisy babble of kids to disguise my noisy shoes.
And then I rounded the corner, emerging from the toiletries isle, and bam. There he was.
