As I walked to the tube this evening, I reflected how calm and pleasant the day had been. Perhaps it seemed more so in contrast to the madness of human life over the last week. It was a beautiful September evening. The sky seemed impossibly clear and blue and a low, almost autumnal sun was spreading a deep golden light over the ornate gables and the Portland stone facades of Central London. Perhaps for the first time in days, I felt a kind of peace as I strode along and breathed deeply of the cool evening air. One day, I thought, all this humanity will pass away but the September evenings, cool and gilded and still, will fall like this over the ruins of London. I take comfort from such thoughts. I was content.
And then I glanced to my right. I was passing Church's shoe shop at the time. I turned my head, and saw a pair of Co-respondent shoes in the window of Church's. Nothing so unusual, you might say...a little late in the season but not so very remarkable. Normally, I would agree. But not on this occasion.
The shoes were black and silver.
I paused. A frown creased my high, pale forehead. My hands, delicate as white butterflies, may have fluttered involuntarily upwards for a moment in a gesture of despair and horror. I may have gasped. I cannot say.
Stunned, I must have stumbled away: I do not recall my actions. Some time later, I came to myself on the embankment of the Thames. How long had passed, what I had done in the intervening time, I will never know. Sometimes the blows of a cruel and unforgiving fate are so profound, so complete, that one's reason is impaired. I assume that I wandered the street in some sort of fugue state, no doubt wringing my hands like Lady Macbeth, for all I know shouting and railing at the horror I had so innocently encountered.
Black and silver spectator shoes...Black and silver! In the Name of All that is Holy, what were Church's thinking?
Oh, I knew it would come. I had no doubt. I knew what modern life was capable of.
But I hoped never to see such things in my lifetime.
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4 comments:
Springheel:
Aren't they owned by Prada now? I think that would explain it.
It may explain it. It does not excuse it.
But then, what could?
These are deep waters; deep and rather dirty. ---Sherlock Holmes
There is one possible use for these shoes. An Oakland Raiders fan could where them to a football game.
In any event, your posts are very funny.
I concede your point. That is the only possible use for them. At least the good citizens of Oakland will be pleased. And I suppose we should be grateful to see them wearing shoes.
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