“He had two pairs of sneakers and steel-toed boots.” my neighbor’s frail widow explained.
My sympathy casserole and I stood while the spider-webbed sneakers sat on the stoop.
“Had them as long as I can remember. He never wanted for nothin new’.” Smiling slightly she added, “Said all he needed was already here.”
My quiet plow guy’s vintage tractor and duct-taped sneakers now made sense. I quietly judged him the way he disapproved my unshoveled property. He wore the boots when he fixed cars behind their renovated chapel.
She sighed, “They’re his Sunday best. I cannot bear to throw them away.”
Friday Fictioneers 100 word challenge and photo prompt.