There was gum on the sole of her shoe. It made a sort of quick, tacky, squelch against the linoleum as she walked to the door. He wondered if she knew. He wondered who dropped the gum. He wondered what flavour it was. Cherry? Mint? Was it even gum? It could have been tar. Maybe she’s a roadworker, he thought. Even if he knew the answers to all these questions, he probably wouldn’t have been able to help her with her sticky shoe.

The next day, when she came in again, he listened to hear the characteristic tick-tack of a begummed heel. Hear it he could not. He decided not to ask her about it.