Last Thursday, I noticed this shoe on top of a transformer at the corner of Boylston and Lamartine. It was still there the next day. Putting on a brave front. I peeked at the label and had the sense that it had been lost before. Call me the shoe whisperer.
Its owner — let's say her name is Trudy — is the scattered type, and frequently stuffs her work shoes and lunch into a too small tote bag. In this case, when the light changed at Lamartine, Trudy rushed across Boylston and into the Stonybrook T station. She was thrilled that she made it to the office a few mintues before nine, until she went to change out of her sneakers and into her BCBG peep toes. She cursed the subway that had rumbled into the station and made her hurry. She fumbled for her back-up pair of scuffed black pumps that she stashed under her desk, and fought off despair. She had hoped to wear her BCBGs through October and maybe even November. She feared she'd never see her right shoe again. Trudy didn't have the slightest idea where she'd lost it.
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