The red shoe

The first thing he was saw the red shoe. It was perfectly red and perfectly shiny and it dangled from a girl's perfectly ivory foot.

The girl was sitting on a wooden bench, writing something into her PDA. She wore a slim red dress that just grazed the backs of her knees. Knee gave way to calf. Calf gave way to ankle. Ankle gave way to foot, that foot with the red shoe.

He could try talking to her. But what kind of man picks up a woman at a train station? He studied her face. She wasn't remarkable looking. But attractive enough. Even her lips were red.

Okay, if she drops that shoe, I will talk to her, he thought to himself. Though the shoe teetered, it seemed unlikely to fall from the foot. In a way, he was relieved.

Then all of a sudden, someone screamed a sneeze. It was emitted by one of those old women whom he suspected had so little attention at home that the only way she could garner attention was to startle as many people and secure as many "Bless you"'s as possible with an ultrasonic scream. He would have hated this wretched women had not at that precise moment the red shoe fell.

He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and stood up. She was reaching for the shoe when he walked towards her and stood in front of her. "Hi," he said. She looked up.

"Hi," she said, grasping onto her shoe.

"Are you taking the train on track 7?" he asked.

"Yep," she said.

"It looks like it's running a bit late today. Do you have any idea what's going on? "

"Not a clue," she said. She slipped the shoe onto her foot. Then she smiled and added, "I guess all we can do is wait for it then."

"Yeah," he said, sitting down, "I guess so."