|Thanks to Jake for the arm.|
When I first began pounding the pavement on the South Side after work or whenever the hell I felt like it, I found that the best shoes I could wear were these elderly Chucks. I'd been given them sometime during college and rarely wore them; but as I began to enjoy the Pittsburgh nightlife, I kept preferring these over my Reeboks for some reason. Somehow, the Chucks were far more comfortable for the bar crawling I was doing, and when it comes to hitting the hipster bars, they looked about right (even though Stuff Hipsters Hate claims that Chucks are out. I disagree).
But it didn't end there. These shoes have been to two or three states and picked up mud on numerous railfan trips. Parties and family gatherings saw them out; and I'm certain that a lot of beer, liquor, barbeque sauce and pipe tobacco ash have pelted and rained upon them while I wore them almost everywhere I went. They didn't make it to Puerto Rico as I was worried about wearing them through airport security and didn't quite have space in my suitcase for them. And they've only been worn to work once, when I had a day off and had forgotten something in my locker.
Sadly, though, they began to take on the epically beaten appearance you see on them in the photo I've posted. That right sole began to peel so badly it was folding over and dragging when I walked. They had hit a level of lifetime mileage that would finally put them out of service.
Fortunately, I received a replacement pair for my birthday recently; this pair is red, rather than the original pair's black with red lining. And they're a little bit different from their predecessors, but in the long run I don't mind that at all. (I wanted green but that's another story.)
Should I bury them or give them a Viking funeral?