Descriptive Essay: The Barefooted Cobbler

The Barefooted Cobbler

There were various theories of why a person would choose to live that way but none seemed viable. Few folk reckoned he suffered from clammy feet while others believed he couldn’t afford a lasting pair but if there was one thing they could all agree upon, it was that he was undoubtedly a mad chap.

Living on a corner of Commercial Street was often too cankerous to handle. When the traffic would reach its peak, the cobbler’s door would fly open and out he came waving an odd steel tool in hand and cursing at passing cars. The sight of a man hollering in high-waisted khakis and starkly white feet on display was enough to evoke momentary silence. Eventually, he'd retreat back into his shop and the screeches would resume.

Ironically, it seemed like a protest against shoes but when questioned on this feat his answer was that he was never able to make a pair good enough for himself. There was not enough rubber, tanned leather and canvas to satisfy such perfectionism. Perhaps the only downside was the stares and the evening bucket of Dettol in which his feet were to soak.

One day, he hurled a utility knife across the floor in frustration. The stack of shoe blueprints had offered only dead ends. “Buckskin!” the cobbler exclaimed joyously. Buckskin lining was the missing piece to the puzzle but everyone knew the most authentic was made by Rajeev the Ooty tanner. Immediately, the cobbler threw all his belongings into a rucksack and caught a train that evening, fuelled with the image of eucalyptus trees, smooth leather and