He leaves us cream. We make him shoes. It is a simple relationship—harmonious and symbiotic.
He has left us cream since his wife died. We followed her here as a little girl, but we’ve taken a liking to him. He honors her homeland’s traditions.
His hands stopped working months ago. They cramp until he cries out in pain. The finer points of shoe-making have become impossible for him.
The young men of the neighborhood mock him. They say he is a shoemaker no more and poke fun at his crippled hands. Their skin will make fine leather boots.
About the Creator
Stephanie Hoogstad
With a BA in English and MSc in Creative Writing, writing is my life. I have edited and ghost written for years with some published stories and poems of my own.
Learn more about me: thewritersscrapbin.com
Support my writing: Patreon
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