NIKE

The shoes that had been gifted to him had quite obviously seen better days. They were vaguely orange, with dark splotches here and there from years of exposure to the elements.  Nike swoshes appeared on either side of each sneaker, as though even deterioration could not thwart the power of branding.

He wasn't enthusiastic about the donation  he'd received on the corner of 96th and Lexington. No, he hadn't really been happy it all. His blackened bare feet had longed developed calluses that could withstand subarctic temperatures with relative ease.

In fact, he was proud of his lower extremities.  It was on them that  he had walked from Philly to New York in three days, when his brother had expelled him from the house.

"You can't stay here no more " Robert had said to him somberly, one morning in early January, some years ago. "My wife has had enough of your carrying on and such. "

He hadn't said anything. Without putting on a jacket or grabbing any of his personal articles, he'd simply walked out of the house, barefoot, and and walked northeast.

He wasn't sure why he'd picked that direction. Maybe it was because the Amtrak train tracks ran adjacent to his brother's place in Germatown and he'd been sure that he could travel a good ways without being seen.

That had been two years ago,  and he enjoyed telling the story to anybody on the street who would listen. In his retelling he always left out the part about how as he walked out of the house, he HAD in fact made sure to grab two  things: his flask of Jamieson and his flask of Bacardi.  He also neglected to discuss how he had somehow abandoned the tracks just north of Levitown, PA,  and hitched a ride all the way to New York. Ah... these details he kept to himself; depending on the day these particularities were lost even to himself.

As he stared at the shoes he'd been given, he began to become a little angry. He hadn't been holding doors open at the Associated Grocery Store so as to gain shoes; what he needed was money for his essentials! A small handle of Jack Daniels would do just fine.

"NOOOOOOO" he shouted to the next customer as she walked in and disregarded the open door that he dutifully held open. He could not remember who had given him the old sneakers, or when during the day he had even received them. It could have been an hour ago...it could have been days.

Whatever the time,  he felt his rage converge on this petite shopper who just passed by him by. With a guteral scream, he flung the shoes at her head with all his might.

The woman, who could not have weighed more than 110 pounds, fell heavily to the ground and several shoppers nearby screamed. Someone called out for ambulance as blood began to tricke from the back of her head.

The man felt a little sorry as he raced away toward nowhere in particular on his feet of the earth. He supposed it didn't matter where he went next.  He'd asserted his agency and that felt pretty fucking good.