I like to people watch. Ever since retirement it's become a pastime. I sit on the bench at the train station, watching everyone board in the morning.

A woman walks by, clacking as she goes. Black heels, a gold detail. She was walking quite fast in them too. The shoes looked well-polished, but I could tell that they had had their fair share of use. She must try to keep them nice. They seemed uncomfortable, because while waiting for the train she kept adjusting and switching the pressure from one foot to the other. The gold detail looked mock designer, and it was a little faded, but she stood tall in them. Although they were beat down and didn't seem to come from anywhere special, the shoes were taken care of and worn with a sort of pride that made you look at her with respect.

A teenage boy stood near her, his Converse looking like the sole might fall off any minute now. There were drawings all over them, little cartoon characters on the toe and a girl's name were crossed out on the rim of the shoe. His laces weren't tied, and I wondered if he noticed and left it like that on purpose, or if he just didn't care or have enough time to tie them. They were covered in mud and dirt, with the back of the right shoe duct taped haphazardly together. The rest of his clothing was neat and clean, not bad quality either. You could tell that those shoes were something he could replace but chose not to. Teenage angst maybe. Kids now always had so much angst. He was probably heading to school and looked around as if he was waiting for someone.

A few other people walked by, but they weren't wearing anything interesting. Then, the train came and everyone began boarding. I was just getting up to leave when I spotted someone running. She was at the back of the crowd and seemed desperate to get on the train. She had a pair of light pink ballet flats on, with little bows on the toe. Clean and perfect, the bow not yet falling off. She was about the same age as the boy, and tapped her foot anxiously, revealing a designer symbol on the bottom of the shoe. The boy glanced over and then looked at her for a moment, something strange in his gaze. She didn't appear to notice him; her eyes were locked onto a seat in the train. The woman in the heels was already sitting down, watching the interaction with a reminiscent look on her face. Then looking down at her hands.

The train took off, all three of the people I had been observing on board. I wondered how their stories would go, before getting my cane and standing up, ready to walk home myself. I wondered if anyone had ever observed me and wondered about my story. I almost laughed out loud at the thought. My own shoes made no sound on the pavement, a pair of loafers and compression socks, my cane clacked unevenly with each step though.

Nobody ever paid any mind to the little old lady always sitting on the bench at the train station, but she always paid attention to them. She watched some of them, as their stories continued and intertwined.