Whenever you get a scratch or a gash on your sneaker remember it could have been worse. It could’ve been my sneaker. This time it was. My fault. I was zooming around on foot the other day (not the video app). They’ve been doing lots of road repair on the real streets here. I was rushing — I stepped in undried tar unknowingly (or some similar sealant who cares). Shoulda woulda coulda. We hit it with some brushes and fluids later and the foul debris with additional pebbleage from the short walk back was permanent. It’s been about a decade since I’ve stepped in poo. Maybe I was due for one of my soles being turned-to-stone.
In my Shoe Game Chess piece, these court trainers were some knightly exemplars who’d given years’ good wear and justly protected my lead foot from a road hazard. Over at hospital (the experts at East Village Shoe Repair) they were able to get most of the gunk out using proper tools and a bombardment of Moneysworth and Best cleaner. Alas, these are now long over the fresh n’ clean horizon but can trudge on as pawns continuing lower-key use in the rain, doing chores, cleaning or painting.
Whenever you get a ding or a nick on your favorite kick remeber it could have been worse. Could have been your bare ass foot. Thanks shoe.
