Every Shoe Tells a Story

One of our favourite places on the ocean, is The Beach Club. The food is fabulous. The drinks are wonderful. The view is superb. It is a place in the sun. They have a wood-fired pizza oven as well.

During the day, the music plays, and young people gather on the beach. They swim and take in the rays, while us oldsters sit under the pale blue umbrellas with tables set with real linen tablecloths.

During the night, the Beach Club hops. And it hops with a crowd that is much younger than the Lovely One and I. For us oldsters, the music needs to have a tune, and the volume needs to be a few notches lower than the volume that they set -- the setting which can be heard all the way to Miami. So we vacate the premises while the sun is still up.

The last time that we were there, we walked down the Beach Club circular drive to where our Beamer was parked. As I am walking by the balustrade, I see the shoe. It is an expensive lady's shoe made of fine Italian leather. It looks like a left foot shoe.

Immediately all sorts of questions come to mind. Where is its mate? Was the woman walking on the beach and she dropped it, or was she too drunk to notice that she lost a shoe. How do you lose a shoe and not know it? This is a fine Italian shoe. How does a single shoe go missing? Every shoe has a story, but this shoe gave no clues to its story. This is particularly intriguing because the shoe is (was) expensive and valuable.

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