To help with his college expenses, my friend, Joel, sold shoes at a local department store. You would think that out of the many times we stopped by his place of employment twenty years ago, I would have bought a pair. Instead, I'm a finicky customer and probably would've left with shoes I didn't like and forced myself to wear them once or twice a year before donating them.

Decades ago and even today, I would never define myself as a shoe connoisseur. Nor do I swear to have good taste in footwear.

But there are some favorites I've had over the years, wishing only to find an exact replacement when the soles and seams are beyond the reparation skills of superhero cobblers.

Subjected to dishroom water on many nights in a restaurant as young adult, my black boxing shoes were a private joy