Moreso, Series Two
Her parents told her that marriage to a carnival barker would never work out, but she was a seamstress, and the carnival needed one, so that was that. They toured the country together as carnies for over 40 years, he touting the acts, she mending the pants.
When they finally retired, due to age and, frankly, a change in public taste, they settled in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and became enthusiastic Yoopers.
“You smell of regret,” she told him. He sniffed the air around him. No odor of regret, as far as he could tell. Sure he had his share of regrets, don’t we all, but nothing he thought was noticeable.
“We don’t always notice our own odors,” she told him. “That’s what friends are for.”
“One chicken panino,” the man ordered.
“One chicken panini?” the waiter asked.
“There’s no such thing as one chicken panini. Two chicken panini, yes.”
“Whatever you say,” the waiter replied, and a few minutes later returned with two chicken panini.
Two homines erecti were divvying up their take after an exhausting day of hunting and gathering. “Same time tomorrow?” one of them grunted. “Sure thing,” the other grunted back.
A single shoe was lying in the middle of the crosswalk, a Rockport World Tour walking shoe, the left one, tan nubuck, size 10.5, extra-wide, my size, I discovered when I picked it up. I looked down at my feet. Both were securely shod in size 10.5 extra-wide tan nubuck Rockport World Tour walking shoes. But the lost shoe, or should I say found shoe, was in much better condition, like new, I’d say, while mine had seen better days, a little dirty, heels worn.
Should I take the shoe? But what would I do with it? If I wore it
instead of my current left shoe its quality would become a liability. I’d walk with an uneven gait due to the difference in the heels, and it would show up my right shoe as a sad old thing on its last legs. So I couldn’t take the lost shoe—it wouldn’t be practical unless there was hope of finding its right sibling.
Should I do that, roam the streets looking for the other shoe to drop, like magic, into my field of vision? No, that simply wouldn’t be practical. So in the end I just let the shoe drop back to roughly where I’d found it. And that’s why we can’t have nice things.
Peter Cherches’ latest book, Everything Happens to Me, is winner of the 2025 Next Generation Indie Book Award for Humor/Comedy.