After weaving my way through the oblivious shamblers whose idea of social distance is to not look up from their phones as they weave back and forth across the sidewalk, I arrive at the liquor store to pick up my order. There's a bit of a line, if two people count as a line, the start being that guy and the end being me, and we hug the closed window shade store to let people pass with an appropriate amount of space, while still standing at least six feet away from one another.
"I like your shoes," I practically shout to him, indicating his white with red polka dot cloth Nikes.
"My what?" he says, momentarily confused, then looking down, he smiles.
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