I was looking for a pair of shoes. Very specific. I’d bought them ten years earlier in the same store on West 72nd Street in New York City. They didn’t make that particular shoe any more, but I wanted something as close as I could get. The woman who came to help me was maybe fifty, with curly, russet, Annie-like hair. And a kind, accessible look. You know, don’t you, when there is a bright soul inside. You can see it on their face. Undeniable. I told her what I wanted. The brand, size, color.
I respect the way you keep your writing gears oiled with posts like this one. Buying shoes seems like a small thing until you set pen to paper. A truly enjoyable read, Richard!
Richard, Thanks for capturing and sharing these glimpses of goodness, especially ones that prompt memories of my years living and studying in New York City. I’m happy to be one of your readers. Ken (soon to start the Spalding MFA).
The shoe store
Hi Richard, always nice to read; great stuff! And with a smile
This anecdote is a real upper! Thanks for the smile😊
Very nice.
I respect the way you keep your writing gears oiled with posts like this one. Buying shoes seems like a small thing until you set pen to paper. A truly enjoyable read, Richard!
Richard, Thanks for capturing and sharing these glimpses of goodness, especially ones that prompt memories of my years living and studying in New York City. I’m happy to be one of your readers. Ken (soon to start the Spalding MFA).