Hey, that's my shoe.

Today, after work, while walking from the car to my front door, a dark green Converse High Top All Star tennis shoe dropped right in front of me. Straight down from the sky, it appeared, to bounce directly three feet in front of me onto the sidewalk.

I looked up, and in the tree above me, on a branch stood a small thin boy. He appeared to be around 15 years old. He wore a bright yellow shirt, dark blue jeans, and, now, one dark green Converse High Top All Star tennis shoe.

His scarf, at least that's what I thought it was at first glance, turned out to be a sturdy, thick hemp rope. The kind of rope one would imagine used to tie a ship to a dock in Lake Erie. He scratched at it a moment like one would a wool sweater in a hot church, then said:

"Hey, that's my shoe."

And then jumped high into the air.

The snap of his neck reminded me of the sound of stepping on twigs and sticks while hiking, playing Army, in my Grandfather's forest.

I walked over to his lifeless body, brushed back his hair into a better-looking part, and looked deep into his doll eyes as I put back on his dark green Converse High Top All Star tennis shoe.

He seemed happier now.