"your shoes are always the same, and don't travel very far."

for sale: baby shoes, never worn.

- ernest hemingway

mother, forgive me, i sold your car for the shoes that i gave you.

- iron & wine

++

this is the first page of a book. right here. this line.

this is where i usually write words about things. this spot right here.

this is where i connect the title to the content. this is where you say "oooh."

in this case, shoes.

shoes. this is where i put a picture of shoes.

this is the space where the picture of shoes goes.

this is where i make some point about something. this is where you re-read the sentence.

this is where i write things not about shoes. but it's still kind of about shoes.

this is where it stops making sense. this is where you wish there were more pictures.

this is where i try to make it make sense again. this is where it doesn't.

shoes. this is where you imagine shoes in your mind.

this is the time where you look away from the screen to think about

shoes.

this is where you come back. it starts to make sense again.

this is where i wrap up my point. this is where you wonder if you should buy new shoes.

this is where i finish. almost there.

this is the end. right after this period.

this is where you scroll up to look at the picture of

shoes.

and now you are back. even though this post is finished.

you are still reading this. this is where you remind yourself of my final point.

you are wondering what it means. the author wishes to tell you that it means nothing.

you think it probably has something to do with shoes. you are right.

shoes.