My right foot

Unless it’s snowing, I wear flipflops. I wear them to work and I wear them to play. I wear them when it’s 85 and sunny and when it’s 10 degrees and frigid. My feet have been liberated by the cruel tyrrany of shoes, and they thank me for this with strong nails and few blisters.

Until today.

Early this afternoon, while walking across the Manhattanville College library, my right flipflip broke. That piece of rubber that connects the bridge to the base snapped off, leaving me sad, lonely and pathetic. I tried taping the thing up, but to no avail. I’m just that weird guy who people steer clear of, because he’s either crazy or homeless.

Sadly, this is the second pair of flipflops to die on me recently.

Tomorrow, I might have to wear my slippers.

All day.

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