The man with the pointed black Crocodile Shoes

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There was never any conversation, he had tried to initiate one once. That was the first time. It was a rainy November morning, the town had not seen the sun in over two days. The grass was moist with dew, the ground muddy and there were less shoes than usual shuffling along the cracked, grey pavement. Days like these had been the slowest for the Shoeshine Man. This was before he had saved enough to buy a small green tent that would shelter his customers from the rain as they got their shoes cleaned and polished. Once he had bought the tent, business picked up on rainy days. Whatever happened in that building behind him required that all who entered it looked their best, this is why he had chosen this location.

The first day the man with the crocodile shoes stopped to get them cleaned, he looked nervous but he smiled. They had never spoken since. Two years later, it was the same thing, the man with the crocodile shoes arrived, said nothing and put his one shoe up on the stool. The Shoeshine Man got his equipment out, a small smile on his face; he cleaned and polished. When he was done, R10 was dropped into his metal plate and the man left to enter the building. It became a routine, a silent understanding that occured between them. After two years, on a day scheduled for a shoe-shine, the crocodile skinned shoes did not show up, and they never returned.

2

She often wondered what it would be like to paint the Shoeshine Man who sat outside the Recruitment Agency Building. He had such distinct features, a small long face, decorated with scars and wrinkles that showed he had lived, no, that he was still living a full life. He was thin. When he stood up, he was short and his hunched back brought him even closer to the ground. He dressed in the same outfit everyday. When there were cold nights, you could see that his shirt was wet and had not properly dried the night before. He was always smiling, not just to his customers, but to everyone who walked by. Everyday he sat there, cleaning and shining peoples shoes. Sending them off with a little bit more confidence, knowing they were sharply dressed, ready to own the day. He had never done it before, but today he looked up and waved at her, she waved back and decided that tomorrow, she would go over and say hello.

She never got the chance.

3

The young lady across the road was staring at him again, the Shoeshine Man thought. He had always wanted to go over and say hello, but as he grew older, the days got longer and walking became harder. He wondered why she would never come and greet him, she reminded him so much of his daughter. He felt an inexplicable pride when she opened the Art Supply Store across him, his daughter would have done something like that. She was an achiever. She had been an achiever. The Shoeshine Man sighed. He felt nostalgic, he missed his daughter. With some effort, he lifted his hand and waved at the young lady, who waved back. The day ended and he packed his equipment, it felt a little heavier than usual but lately everything had.