Shoes.

"Who's here?"
"No one. It's just me."
"Whose shoes are those then?"
"Oh, I got new ones."

  It's interesting how people become associated with their possessions. There's a comfort in being able to identify who is at your friend's house just by taking inventory of the shoes on their landing. I like having a rough idea of what to expect before entering a social situation.

   You can tell if you're early or late.
   You can see who is there, or who has yet to arrive.
   You can judge whether it was worth coming out.  

  The shoes someone wears, or any possession, become as familiar as personality traits and quirks, such as a laugh or twitch. A material item may be, by itself, trivial and empty; but within the context of being chosen by someone, an item becomes a representation or an extension of that person's personality. Those shoes exist because whoever is wearing them has a preference, or a perhaps a financial situation, that led them to purchase them.

  Material things are unnecessary on their own; they don't need to exist. But they do, and have become integrated into who we are. I find comfort in the associations shoes provide me about their owner, as sort of a Hansel and Gretel crumb trail telling me what is to come ahead.