The shoes littered the hallway creating their own bed of dusty mud. They lay not in pairs but often far apart, kicked off in random directions the second they were no longer required. Amongst them were the tell-tale leaf fragments of the season which had by now begun their annual migration across the lurid carpet and up the stairs. For any visitor this chaos the doorway was fair warning of what to expect inside. This was not a home where housework mattered, this was the home of people so focused on their individual passions that no-one felt the goal of cleanliness was worth diverting even a fraction of their precious time to. Yet somehow there was time for computer games and social media... * These shoes have become a second skin, a part of me as much as the blood in my veins. Where once they were smooth, now there are the crinkles and softness that come with age, with the passage of these feet over so many paths. And in this way, they are the same as my face, as the soft lines that spill from the corners of Country of Origin: India