Nice Shoes

This morning as I pulled my car into a parking space to go into work, I noticed what looked to be an abnormally chipper hobo. The company I work for is located on 25th St across the street from Salvation Army, which in case you didn't know is an area in Omaha where you could find almost any kind of person. As I meandered my way toward the front entrance, he walked past me and commented "nice shoes" with a hint of cheap booze clinging to him as a seemingly natural scent. Catching me completely off guard, I really didn't respond at first, only with a blank stare. Seeming to realize this, he spoke again, "No really, those shoes are fantastic" in what was a rather dull, unenthusiastic voice. After he said this, I looked down at my shoes, a pair of well broken-in hand-me-down penny loafers from my father and just as I was about to look up and muster a response, the old hobo-esque man with a grizzly, peppered beard and black sailor's beanie kept walking down the side-walk in his worn-in pair of $10 grey velcros from WAL-MART. I was wearing the exact same shoes that man had on yesterday.