The Sole of a Man
It was embarrassing, but you currently found yourself walking down the streets barefoot, your shoes held firmly in either hand as the rubber soles barely hung on and flapped about. Honestly you should consider yourself lucky that you even have feet after what just happened. You were exiting the mall, getting off one of those escalators, and the tips of your shoes had been caught between the cracks. The only thing that had kept your feet from being sucked down along with the rest of your legs had been all the exercise you'd done to hone those meaty thighs of yours. So thankfully, all you really had to worry about today was where the hell you were gonna' find a place to fix up your shoes?
As it turns out, you wouldn't have to look very far. Rounding a corner, you came across a store that suited just your needs, in an almost comical fashion. "Burrows Boots." You read, the sign depicting a pair of fine looking brown boots, or brogues really, tapping against the edge of the sign. Entering the store you were surprised to find it empty, but the real surprise was the strong hint of leather throughout the air. It wasn't musty either, for a place that looked as old as it did it had an air of freshness to it, and familiarity that you weren't quite sure where you remembered it from.
Walking up to the counter you took one last look around before tapping the bell once. "Hello?"
"Ach, hold yer' horses lad I'm comin'." A thick gaelic accent sounded off from the back. You heard the footsteps of the man before you saw him, pushing past a row of beads hanging from a doorway separating the backroom from the front, and found yourself looking down a bit more than you were used to. "I take it the state of your boots aren't the latest fashion trend then?" The man was...well he was short. You'd call him a dwarf really, as his body didn't seem to be misaligned or out of wack. He was just...a short short guy. The bright red beard and rather impressively carved wooden pipe were the two things other than his height that caught your attention the most.
"Yessir," You answered, placing the shoes on the counter. "Nearly got my toes ate by an escalator."
"Bah, death traps if you ask me." The man said, taking your shoes and looking them over. "Damn near separated the stitching and all. Tis why people should just walk up stairs like normal folk." He paused in his examination and then gave you a leveling gaze. "I assume you have a way of paying for a repair?"
"I've got a Jackson in my wallet, but I can run on down to the bank and fetch the other nine-hundred-ninety-nine-million if that's not enough." You said cheekily.
"Eh, that would be about close enough to my normal prices, luckily I love the lads of Eire enough to not want to see'em walk around barefoot." The dwarf fired back with his own wit. "I don't make change though." He said evenly.
"As long as the work's good it ought to be worth it." You replied. "Mister...?"
"Bootman." He answered. "Aye, give us a moment and I'll have the things ready for you." Bootman said, taking your shoes and hurrying to the back.
You took the chance to examine rest of the store, your attention being drawn to a picture hanging up of Bootman and another man who was so damned familiar to you it was almost annoying. Where had you seen
that face before...
"All finished." Bootman's voice shook you from the suddenness of it, and your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when you looked upon your shoes in their newly repaired glory. "Might want to invest in a bit of that foot powder boyo, pretty lasses aren't fond of the atheletes foot."
"How'd you do that so fast?" You asked point blank, walking up to the counter and already placing down the hundred-dollar bill on the counter as you took one of your shoes and examined it. Hells bells, it looked even better than when you walked in alright. Almost new. "Seriously, that was...insanely fast."
"A craftsman learns to do his job well and right, time shouldn't matter." Bootman waved off your question, your hundred-dollar bill already disappeared into his pocket. "Now, I don't suppose you've any more torn up shoes in yer back pockets for me to fix up?" When you shook your head he nodded and waved you off. "Then off with ya', a young man like you's got more important things to be doing than yammering with an old fool."
"Thanks." You say, mostly stunned still as you slip the shoes on and marvel at how nice they feel. "Thanks a bunch Bootman."
"Not a problem Bruce, any time." He says as you walk out, the door shutting behind you almost quietly. You make it about five feet before you realize something.
"How'd he know my name?" You turn around, ready to head back in and ask him such, and pause. Instead of a shoe shop, you're staring right down an empty alley. "...Cat's not gonna' believe this." You mutter, shaking your head as you walk off with your hands in your pockets. "Not one damn bit."
