A Farewell to Shoes

The landing outside my apartment door is, in the words of my fabulous predecessor TJ, where old shoes go to die.  There is always a small pile of shoes outside the door.  They are not my shoes.  Sometimes pairs appear, sometimes they disappear.  Currently, there is one battered pair of white women's shoes. These particular dead shoes have been present since before I moved in, and I am confident they will still be there after I leave.