Punk Rock Art Photos: "Whose Shoes, Exactly?"

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<Take II>

<Take III>

<Take IV>

<Take V>

<Take VI>

As soon as I spotted them, I had to take the picture. Simple as that. Just imagine the scene that greets you: it's Christmas Eve.

You're driving around town scurrying to get those last-minute mindless errands done, before the sidewalks roll up for good, and you're left to await December 26th...when it's back to the regular crap for 95%-plus of the populace.

You pull into the Family Dollar parking lot, and your eyes flit to the outer edges. There it is, a pair of shoes, seemingly arranged in some surreal image to the Rapture, that oft-cited, yet apocalyptic, eternal game changer...in which the deserving float upstairs to Heaven, minus the obvious sign or two of their former Earthly presence.

In other words, here's an art photo opportunity that's too good to pass up, right? But there's a hitch: you don't have your camera, which means you'll have to run home, and grab it, now that your errands are complete. Sure, that means running back out again. But those are the breaks, right? Wait too long, and somebody will toss those shoes into the dustbin.

So that's what I did. I ran home to grab our camera, prompting The Squawker to wonder: "Just why are you taking a picture of somebody's shoes, exactly?"

"I can't spend a lot of time explaining it," I responded. "Trust me, when you see the photos, you'll know why I snapped it."

About 20 minutes later, I came back, and showed my resulting efforts to Squawker, who got it, right away.

Darkness was closing in fast, since I'd spotted the shoes at around 5:30 p.m.. Fortunately, the parking lot ls right next door to McDonald's, which meant I could use one of their lights to enhance my work.

So what happened here, once we've ruled out the supernatural aspect? Had somebody just bought a new pair, and didn't feel like taking those old clogs to the trash can? Did they have enough of their current here and now, and opt to leave their shoes -- their past, essentially -- behind? Or did that someone stumble out of their car, drunk and disorderly, shedding those shoes without a care about tomorrow, waiting for their ride to show up? 

Whose shoes, exactly? You choose. You decide. --The Reckoner