The café was cozy, with the warm hum of conversation and the rich aroma of coffee filling the air. A young man, whom we’ll call Sam, sat at a high table, one of those tall, bar-style setups with stools that made you feel like you were perched above the world. His notebook was open in front of him, and he was scribbling away, lost in thought, when his pen slipped from his fingers. It clattered onto the floor, rolling under the table and coming to rest near the footrest of the stool across from him.
Sam sighed and slid off his stool, crouching down to retrieve the pen. The floor was cool beneath his palms, and the faint scent of coffee grounds and baked goods filled his nostrils. As he reached for the pen, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A man, tall and casually dressed, walked up to the table and sat down on the stool across from Sam’s. Sam froze, his hand closing around the pen. He could have stood up right then, but something about the man’s sneakers caught his attention.
They were Jordan 4 Military Blacks—immaculate, with sharp black tread patterns that looked like they’d just been unboxed. The man clearly took great care of his sneakers, but there was a light layer of dust on the soles, evidence of walking on the streets. The man propped his feet on the footrest under the table, the sole of the Jordan facing Sam. Sam’s eyes lingered on it, his curiosity piqued. The sole wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t spotless either—it had a faint coating of urban grit, the kind that comes from a casual stroll through the city.
Sam felt a strange, almost magnetic pull toward the shoe, a desire to touch it, to feel its texture. But more than that, he wanted to taste it. The thought made his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but it was there, undeniable and insistent.
The man above him was engrossed in a phone conversation, his tone light and playful as he laughed at something his friend said. Sam’s heart raced as he leaned closer to the sneaker, his breath shallow. He told himself it was just curiosity, just a fleeting impulse, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.
With a mix of hesitation and determination, Sam leaned in, his tongue darting out to brush against the sole of the Jordan. The taste was a mix of rubber and dust, with a faint earthiness that reminded him of the city streets. The grooves of the tread were smooth under his tongue, the dust dissolving as he licked, leaving the sole cleaner than before. Sam’s pulse quickened as he continued, his tongue tracing the intricate patterns of the sole, cleaning every inch with meticulous care.
Above him, the man shifted in his seat, his foot accidentally brushing against Sam’s face. Sam flinched but stayed silent, his cheeks burning with a mix of shame and exhilaration. The man’s foot nudged him again, this time more firmly, as if he were unconsciously adjusting his position. Sam’s face pressed against the sole, the texture imprinting itself on his skin. He could feel the faint pressure of the man’s weight, the subtle flex of the shoe as the man moved.
Finally, the man ended his call, sliding his phone into his pocket. He stood up, his Jordans lifting off the footrest, and Sam quickly retreated, his face flushed and his heart pounding. But as the man took a step forward, he paused, looking down at the floor. There, on the polished surface, was a faint wet print—a perfect outline of the Jordan’s sole. The man frowned, bending down to inspect his shoe. He turned the sole upward, his brow furrowing as he noticed the dampness and the fact that it was noticeably cleaner than before.
“What the…” he muttered, glancing around the café. His eyes swept the room, but Sam was already crawling out from under the table, his pen clutched tightly in his hand. He stood up, brushing off his clothes and avoiding eye contact with anyone. The man stared at him for a moment, his expression a mix of confusion and suspicion, but Sam quickly turned away, his face burning.
As the man walked off, shaking his head and muttering to himself, Sam sank back onto his stool, his heart still racing. He glanced down at his notebook, his pen poised above the page, but his mind was elsewhere. The taste of the sole still lingered on his tongue, a secret he would carry with him, hidden beneath the surface of his ordinary life.
