the black Mare ankle boots the shoemaker on 10th Street
sold me in 1980something because no one ever picked them up
the black Otto Tootsi Plohound boots the roommate gave me in 1990somethingthat were cut to mid-calf
the black kitten heel, pointy toe knee-high leather boots bought new in Martinez, Argentina 2000something glimpsed from a moving train, spotting the exact pair wanted, figuring out how to use the Spanish-speaking ticket machine and getting to Martinez on my own and buying a new pair of boots for the first time in decades for about the same the Mare cost 20 years earlier.
the black Timberlake quasi motorcycle boots, a bit too big, the neighbor gave me muchlatersomething
the two pairs of black waterproof, warm, winter La Canadianne boots bought on 14th Street-2-for-1 new after destroying a pair of boots in the rain because an ex had bought them for me
the black pointy-pointy-pointy Italian leather $14.99 at Salvation Army before boycotting their stores because they gave so much money to anti-Gay actions
the black fake-leather knee high a friend gave me for work
the two pairs of black ankle boots kept at work, one from a thrift store some serious designer name that the guy wouldn't give me a break on the the price, and a pair from Italy bought at a street fair from this woman she just wasn't wearing them anymore but then running into me on the street the following week, saying she regretting selling them to me for $10 she should have given them another shot
and the brown pair of Adams Boots that are kinda motorcycle or cowboy boots with a buckle and they're the only brown boots I got.
Its clear that there is no possible reason, ever, until all these boots fall apart, that I need another pair ever.
Unless of course, someone has a pair they're getting rid of or there's a sale. Or they're red.
Sunday Memories: Return To The Promise Land
Sunday Memories: Dead Shoes Walking