Benjy labored to see passed his stomach and down to the white Nikes which he had finally succeeded in lacing up and slipping on.
The sales associate, watching with a disdainful curiosity, produced a full-length mirror from behind a lifelike cut-out of some famous basketball player. From the ant’s-eye angle, Benjy’s stomach seemed to hover above his creased khaki’s and fresh white sneakers like a starship preparing to invade a futuristic city, a steel zeppelin incased in a cotton t-shirt. From his usual vantage point, this perfectly shaped mass of flesh added a distinguished prowess to his gait, and a merry demeanor that he partially credited for the friendships of his fellow teachers, and the almost instantaneous respect shown each year from his students.
“They feel tight on the sides,” Benjy mentioned. Since childhood he had been chubby, with even chubbier feet. “Do you have anything wider?”
The sales associate disappeared without a word, and quickly returned with a bland pair of white sneakers. He removed one shoe and slowly rotated it rotisserie chicken style for Benjy. They were plain and boring, completely unadorned with decoration or intricacy; to make matters worse, a horseshoe shaped Velcro strap substituted for laces. Benjy grimaced and felt his face flush.

“I like the first pair better.” He said, and he waited for some expert opinion.

The salesman offered none.

“I guess tonight I’ll give that shoe horn a workout then.”

The sales clerk smiled a tight-lipped smile, his powdered cheeks hardly offering any glow under the sharp neon lights. With startling alacrity, he had all four shoe boxes and their disapproved contents wrapped and tucked under his left arm, while he carried the Benjy-worthy Nikes, arm extended like a trey of cocktails, to the register.