Walking in someone else's abandoned shoes.

New Yorkers go through shoes faster than the Olympic Chinese track and field team. We love shoes. We have to. This is a walking city. The city’s beauty, skullduggery, passion, and secrets are all visible to people who understand the simple elegance of walking around without any particular objective than to see, to look, to watch. If you walk discreetly, the city will arise before you like an enormous and curious wild animal – a grisly, shimmering, and magnificent creature that only your imagination can fully conjure. It’s why we live here. You don’t have to drive somewhere to witness something notable. All you have to do is start walking. When friends and family visit New York City, they often arrive with preconceived ideas and images of the Statue of Liberty and The Empire State building flittering around in their heads. That’s fine. They’ll make those stops. But if you really like them, you will answer the question, “Well, what should we do first?” with this response, “Let’s go walk around.”

This pair of men’s black leather shoes was found on the sidewalk at night, resting side-by-side as if the owner were still wearing them. Throwing away a pair of worn-out shoes is sad, because there is a history there. A bond. A part of your life that can never be repeated exactly as it was lived while wearing that particular pair of shoes. But, alas, they wear down. Like sweaters. Like people. You take them to the cobbler for new soles, and give them a new lease on life. But there is no beating time and sidewalks. Generations of New Yorkers have lost the battle against time and sidewalks long before we came to this city, and will continue to lose this battle long after we are gone. Everyone dies. One pair of shoes at a time.