The mesh is not so sharp now; there is graying and fraying that says "mileage." Another pair of "tennies" that were once sought in a certain sporting goods chain's twenty buck section, carried out in their fresh box and brand new and stiff and full of that consumer baiting petrochemical burst into the nose, have become the second pair, as have all the preceding ones. And, one inevitable day, likely the ones I just bought, which don't have the mesh.

The time was when the second tennies would join the aging slacks and veteran end of my never ending pullover fleet as work gear. Once I bought a certain brand of clodhopper work shoe and, probably owing to being down a right size, I never quite grew into them. They sat around my "office" for presumed rugged occasions and would start to give me, never a dedicated barefoot person either, blisters. No, my cleanup position at any location or rank allowed me to wear such informal wear on floor and blacktop.

Finally, with leaks through the soles being more persuasive than general tattering, the work shoes would be bagged and dropped in a bin as another once bright and new pair joined my bread and butter outfits. But if shoes could think, they'd know they were descending the final stairway.

I have a two-decade old pair of brown dress shoes from a lamented defunct outlet store for formal stuff, and I spend reasonable money, though I get a discount, on my group fitness shoes. As a matter of fact, from the same place as the fitness shoes I purchased a mostly black cross trainer that looks presentable when my bands play shows. Black is what is specified and the long walks to and from the bandstand are much nicer than in the dress shoes.

But back to the current second pair. They will be worn mostly on the ways to and from fitness classes, the shoes for which I do not wear on the street to extend their life "on the floor", but with retirement the era is gone, or changed.

There's only one general direction to walk, but for now I'm not being carried.