The Shoe BagAbdelaziz watched. From the lorry men were delivering the hotel’s supplies. Giant olive oil bottles for the kitchen. Pallets of cleaning products and insect killers to the stores. The noise of the planes and the heat stored up on the runway. He only came to watch one thing. The delivery of the hotel shoes. Huge transparent bags, a hundred pairs in each slung over the shoulders of the delivery men. So many feet. Where would they go? There was nothing as strange as the shape of a human foot. A walking hinge. The migrant’s essential. The black holes like doorways to the shoes’ interior drew his eye as much as the leather. Black circles of darkness into which feet would be placed each day. The sight comforted him. There was a destiny in it. All feet had a resting place allotted to them, inside a shoe. Even his own.
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