Shortstory, Writing

The Hike


The trunk of the car creaked open lazily. The musty odor of weather-worn moving boxes wafted out almost visibly. It had been a year since he’d moved out of the apartment, but he couldn’t bring himself to unpack. Temporarily relocating was becoming more permanent with each failed interview. He sifted through the layers of clutter, and found the old pair of running shoes. They were shrunken from being over-washed, and the mesh sides had become Swiss cheese from wear. But the soles could still grip the Earth, and that’s all that mattered.

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