Tweet A single shoe sits in the gutter, sheltering beneath the bumper of a battered VW Polo. The cracked red leather is spotted with splashes of dried mud. A dead spider floats on the stagnant water that pools in the shoe.
Whose shoe is it? Why is it in the gutter? How long has it been there? What happened to the owner, or even the spider?
It's moments like these that remind me why I write.