He looked back at the neon-colored "clunkers" on his feet. They weren't just shoes; they were a time machine. Elias didn't head home. Instead, he turned toward the trail, wondering just how much further these pillows could take him.
The mist clung to the pavement like a wet blanket as Elias stepped onto the curb. At sixty-four, his knees usually gave him a rhythmic "click-clack" of protest before the first mile was even over. He looked down at the shoes he’d bought on a whim—the . They looked like moon boots, thick and oversized, a far cry from the thin racing flats he’d worn in the eighties. hoka running shoes
"Alright, pillows," he muttered. "Let’s see if the hype is real." He looked back at the neon-colored "clunkers" on his feet