There is another shoe, single this time, outside the medical centre. Alone, on the small ledge below the big window that looks up Lackey Street towards the railway station, round the corner from the entrance. A woman's shoe, high-heeled, a bit clunky, in brown suede with small diamante inlays picking out a pattern around the instep and along the toe. Italian, perhaps. When I first saw it, the other day, it was standing upright but now it's fallen over. The heel, which is thick as well as high, makes it unlikely that whoever left it there could have walked away on the other one. Or only with a most peculiar gait. Hopping. Or on crutches. It does not look much worn and yet its dancing days are surely over.