My latest effort in guerrilla literature, ironically dropped in a shoe store as I was buying new shoes.
Payless Shoes – Centro Shopping Centre, Seven Hills
My father sat me down one Saturday morning, my school shoes in his hand.
“We’re staying here until we can tie our laces,” he said.
There was over and under, loops and rabbit ears, going around trees and over fences. All I saw was a tangle of black spaghetti.
My father pontificated as I struggled in the art of mimicry.
“Shoelaces are like life,” he said. “At first it’s tricky and complicated. It’s fiddly and frustrating. Sometimes, it’s the little things that trip you up.”
Looking back down to my shoes to try again, I looked at my father’s feet. He was wearing a pair of slip on work boots.
And, yes, I did put the postcard into a box of slip on shoes.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 