martymcfry.com

or not…

I was watching Flushed Away (excellent movie btw) in the comfort of my living room when my bro steps out of his room and asks me if I got new shoes.

“New shoes?”, I said.

“Yeah, new shoes. Brown ones.”

Then I started wondering, why the hell would I have brown shoes. The last pair of shoes I got that were brown (tan really) were left behind in Manila. So I got out of the couch went to where my brother was standing and looked at the pair. My bro and I were like deer caught in headlights. We stood there staring for what seemed ages and all I could say was that those shoes weren’t mine. And out of nowhere, my bro shouts,

“Shit my shoes are missing!”

All these thoughts started flying in my head. Someone must’ve broke into our apartment, took my bro’s shoes and decided leave his old pair behind as his calling card. The Shoe Bandit, that’s what he’s called. He must’ve gone through the patio, ignored the laptop by the tv, my old cellphone by the kitchen table, and headed straight for the shoes.

Yeah right. It was absurd, but how else could I explain the fact that my bro’s shoes are missing and here lies this pair of brown shoes that belonged to neither of us? As Sherlock Holmes would say “when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth” and the Shoe Bandit was my truth.

“Was anyone here recently?” my bro asked.

At that moment, I had an epiphany, a light bulb, so bright it puts the movie Sunshine to shame, lit over my head and I knew whose shoes they belonged to.

The mysterious pair