Not My Boots


Many moons ago I was in downtown Detroit walking from a ska show to my car. I’d gotten a lot of upbeat, sweaty dancing in that evening, so I was in a good place emotionally. I’d parked at a McDonald’s lot near the venue and was passing the fast food joint when two homeless guys stopped me. They’d set up a pretty substantial camp on the sidewalk. One of them asked if I had any cash for them and I told them no. The other said, “Alright, can I have your boots?” I obviously said no because that’s crazy. First of all, this guy was already wearing shoes. Second, he would never have fit into mine. Third, I was wearing them on my feet, walking through the snow in the middle of winter.

Was he going to sell them? Did he have a boot fetish? Were they just so stylish he couldn’t resist? I’ll never know because we eventually agreed that his request was unreasonable. I walked away and he started playing drums on a plastic barrel.

Leave a comment. Just try it. It will be fun, I swear.