He walks into a shoe store, and is looking to buy. Wingtips, loafers—something dressy, you know? Nothing too expensive, though. He doesn't want to pay too much, partly because he doesn't really have the money, but mostly because he knows he'll probably only wear them once; maybe more, depending on how many funerals he'll feel obligated to go to, not because he knows the deceased, necessarily, but because it'll be expected.

—Can I help you? the saleswoman asks.

—Just looking right now, thanks, he replies.

She can tell he's the kind of guy who's probably never worn anything but tennis shoes, but can he be blamed? It's fortunate, really, to never have had an occasion for such fancy shoes (weddings, funerals, dead-end corporate jobs—usually unpleasant things, assuming you aren't the one getting married
(usually.))

The thing is, though, that this is precisely what has brought him here, to this shoe store, on this day—a wedding. Not his, of course, he's too young (or thinks he is—he isn't, at 23.) No, this wedding is for his brother, for whom he will serve as best man. His brother's been dating her for a year, maybe more, but he can't imagine even dating a girl for three months, much less a year, and not to mention marrying anyone. His relationships always end up by the wayside, probably due to his own insecurities, but maybe not.

He considers this for a minute.

He's tried on a few pairs of shoes. He picks a pair (black wingtips), and takes them to the cash register to pay for them. A car drives by with the radio turned up too loudly, and the bass pulses in his ears. He leaves the store and drives home.

Tonight, he will go to a party thrown by a friend of a friend. He will drink too much vodka. He will dance to techno music he doesn't like, but he will dance because everyone else is and he is drunk anyway. He will flirt with several girls, but only be taken seriously by one. They will go to a bedroom of the house, and for a moment, while he's kissing her, he will remember what he was thinking about earlier, in the shoe store.

He will try to imagine marrying the girl. He will fail.

He will try to imagine a relationship with the girl. He will fail.

He will be disappointed in himself, just for a moment, as he's unlatching her bra. But it won't matter, because this is now and now is now and now is good and who cares about the future anyway.

The techno music will play on. The bass line will pulse in his ears.