[ WP ] You live in a world where walking a mile in someone else 's shoes gives you one of their skills . You work in a used shoe store .

`` See him?'' My co-worker, Joe, whispers uncomfortably close to my ear. 
 
 `` Yes, yes I see him, alright.'' I reply. 
 
 `` Neil fucking Peart. What is he doing here?'' Joe continues to whisper, I shrug my shoulder to push his hand away. 
 
 `` Buying shoes, I suspect.'' I reply. I hide my infatuation. I do n't want Joe keen on my plan. Neil Peart from Rush, looking to buy new shoes in my very store. Perhaps if I can get him to trade in his old pair they'd be worth millions... or even better yet, *I could take them for myself.*. I exit the back storage area and approach the famous drummer, `` Hello, sir, can I help you find anything?'' 
 
 He smiles politely, `` Oh, no, just browsing.'' 
 
 `` Oh, well. Let me know if you need anything.'' I say. He nods his head and thanks me before turning back towards the rows of used shes. Dammit. How do I play this off? I pretend to examine various pairs of shoes, trying not to make it too obvious that I am staring down Neil's shoes from a distance. I clear my throat, `` So uh, looking for a new pair of drumming shoes?'' 
 
 He laughs, `` No, I've got plenty of those. Looking for a pair of dance shoes, actually.'' 
 
 I thumb my chin, `` Well.'' I say, `` A dance teacher recently traded in for a pair of running shoes. If you want to take a look?'' 
 
 He seems to debate for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders, `` Sure, alright.'' 
 
 Okay plan is in motion. Just play it cool, in just a few hours time all of Neil's technical prowess behind the kit will be mine. I curse myself, a successful business man traded in just a few days ago as well. I bet his shoes could have given me some insightful tactics. I lead Neil Peart to a pair of black, well polished shoes. `` Here we are.'' I say. `` And there are some others as well, different sizes, you know.'' 
 
 `` Hm.'' He hums. He lifts the black shoes and flips them around in his hands, `` Very nice looking. Lighter than they look.'' 
 
 `` Custom made, I believe. You do n't find a pair like that every day, I can assure you.'' I say. I lick my lips as Neil sits down at the bench, removing his tattered looking sneakers one at a time. 
 
 `` Oh wow.'' He says. `` Very comfortable. I always thought they'd be very stiff.'' 
 
 `` Give'em a spin.'' I say. `` Looks like a natural fit.'' 
 
 He nods his head, `` I think you're right.'' He stands up, bouncing on his toes. 
 
 I try not to stare down at his shoes on the floor, like a woman showing ample cleavage, the temptation is always there biting at the bottom of my field of view. 
 
 `` Say do you have a restroom here?'' He asks. 
 
 I blink, then grin, `` Yes. Of course. Right through that door. And uh, do n't mind the employee he's a bit of a fan.'' 
 
 Neil laughs, `` Oh, I'm used to it.'' He walks off towards the door. Leaving me alone with the shoes. My mind races, wondering what to do. I act on impulse. I slip out of my own worthless work shoes and creep my toes into his. Still warm. I can feel the aura of talent radiating from the worn in soles. I slip both feet in, already I feel that I could tap out an assortment of para diddles. This is my chance. I could finally start a band, I'd be famous! How long would it take to do laps around the store and reach a mile? I start walking. A few minutes later I can hear Joe gushing and asking for an autograph. Oh no, it has n't been nearly enough time! I walk faster, weaving through the aisles of various shoes, priced by the ability of the owners. They all pale in comparison to the worn sneakers wrapped around my feet. 
 
 Neil emerges from the back room, he seems happy. His skill would be mine! `` Interesting place you have here.'' He says. 
 
 `` Hm? Oh thank you.'' I reply. Shit, I have to stall him! 
 
 `` You know, uh, we've got, um. Well, check this out.'' I sputter, urging him to follow. I hope and pray he does n't look down. I walk us towards the furthest edge of the store away from where he thinks his shoes reside. `` See, uh, these sandals were worn by a guy who walked around the United States.'' 
 
 `` You mean across?'' He asks. 
 
 `` No, we walked *around* it. Took him three years to complete the journey.'' 
 
 `` Fascinating.'' He says, rubbing his chin. `` And what about those?'' He asks. 
 
 `` These?'' I say, placing my hand on a pair of worn leather boots, `` Axe thrower. Daniel Treson. Sort of a local hero.'' 
 
 Neil laughed, `` If those did n't look to be a size fifteen I might pick those up.'' 
 
 `` Well, you only have to make it a mile in them!'' I say. *Only a mile. Could I make it a mile in these shoes without leaving the store? * Already I can feel them working. My fingers itching to tap out a technical beat. We visit some more notable pairs. Maybe I could convince him to sell? But I could never afford to buy them for myself, even as the shop owner. And as soon as I reach a mile in them they'd be near worthless. No. I must complete the mile journey. 
 
 `` Seems like a very interesting town.'' He says, after I show him yet another pair from a more local sports hero. 
 
 `` Oh it is.'' I say, doing whatever I can to prolong conversation. `` You should check it out. I can give you a tour!'' 
 
 Neil grins warmly, `` You know. I might take you up on that.'' *Yes! * `` But-'' *Oh no! * `` I do n't want to scuff up my new shoes.'' 
 
 `` O-Oh really? Well, Uhm, I mean a good pair of dance shoes needs to be broken in. Why not take them for a spin?'' 
 
 He seemed to debate it for a moment, `` Well...'' My heart thumped beneath my shirt. There was no turning back now, but I do n't know what I'll do! `` Alright.'' Excitement ran down my spine and relief washed over my shoulders. 
 
 `` Great!'' I exclaim. 
 
 `` But I'll pay first. Do n't want you to think I'd be-'' As he reached into his pocket to produce his wallet he looked down. Chills ran down my spine. He looked back up to me, then down again. `` Hang on. Are those-?'' 
 
 I sprint towards the door. `` I'm sorry Neil!'' I shout as the door chimes sound off. 
 
 `` Hey, get back here!'' I hear him shout from behind me. But there is no turning back now. What do I need? 3/4ths of a mile? I did cross country in high school, it would be a piece of cake. My feet pound against the pavement, and with each step I can feel the shoes power surging within me. A squad car turns a corner onto the road in front of me. I make a sharp right, down the street another block before turning into an alley way. I hear sirens. It dawns on me how much shit I'm in if I get caught. I've got a million dollar pair of shoes on that is losing its value every second I've got them on. 
 
 My feet splash in filthy water as I continue to veer through tight alley ways. The sirens echo through the concrete canyons from seemingly all directions. How much longer? My chest heaves and my side starts to hurt. Cross country or not, I've been sprinting for nearly a mile now. *Nearly a mile*. No jail time or fines will stop me now, when I get out I'll be a rockstar. I can finally free myself from that damned shoe store. 
 
 I nearly slam into a fence. Dead end. I scramble to climb it but I feel strong hands grip my pants by the waist and pull me down. I no longer feel the aura from the shoes, I've made it! 
 
 *Several hours later... * 
 
 I'm sitting in a cold chair in a bare, white room. Having more time to think on it I realize it was n't worth it. I'd be blacklisted for sure. Everyone would know that I was the fraud who stole Neil Pearts shoes. I play a beat on my knees, amazed by my own coordination. 
 
 A man enters. It's Neil. 
 
 `` Hello.'' He says. I go to speak, to apologize, but he raises his hand to interrupt me. `` I'm not going to press charges. *If. *'' He gives me a stern look then repeats himself. `` If. You agree to not make any Rush cover bands.'' 
 
 `` Huh?'' I say, confused. 
 
 `` If you make a Rush cover band, I'll tell people what happened, and you'll never drum another gig in your life.'' He says. 
 
 I hang my head, `` Okay. Deal.'' 
 
 `` It's not about the technical prowess.'' He explains. `` It's about the heart. The creativity. If you can do that, then, well. Consider it a gift.'' 
 
 I meet his gaze, `` Thank you. And, you can have the Dance shoes for fr-'' 
 
 `` I planned on it.'' He says.
