…I moved into my first apartment that was just my own.  No roommates; no one to fuck up my shit, but also no one to fall back on.  Just me.

That same week, I decided I needed a new pair of shoes and, thanks to a “Buy One, Get One Half Of” sale, I actually bought two pairs for pretty cheap.

Not that I needed two pairs of shoes, mind you.  I, at just about any given time, own maybe three pairs of shoes.  Total.  One pair of fancy goin’ out shoes, a pair of my every day sneaks, and a pair of old, beaten up shoes — that used to be my pair of every day sneaks — that I wear if I know I’ll be trudging through dirt or mud and whatnot.  I wear shoes until they wear out.

So, yeah, I didn’t really need two new pairs of shoes.  BUT they were cheap, so I bought them.  I have worn the first pair, and then other pair has sat — in their original box — on my closet floor, for the last three years.

Jump to three years later.  Today, actually.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve taken several trips from Columbus, OH up to Cleveland, carrying a dozen boxes or so of personal belongings into my new house.  Saturday, my good friend Troy Stith helped me load up a U-Haul truck and move all of my furniture.  I spent most of today cleaning up the apartment so I could turn over my keys to the landlord tomorrow.  And, this evening, I met up with some friends once last time and went bowling.

As I turned in my rental shoes and started to put my sneaks back on, I noticed that — after three years, almost to the day — I had finally worn out the pair of shoes I bought when I first moved into my apartment; a giant slit running the length of the shoe, just above the sole.

Since I’m giving up my first apartment all my own along with the shoes I bought with I first moved into it, it seems kind of fitting that — when I leave Columbus to restart my life in Cleveland — I’ll be wearing the other new pair of shoes I bought.  Three years ago.

A whole blog post about shoes and not one tongue joke.  Seems kinda wasteful.

Frankie

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