Yellow.

School was long, the day dragged on. I found myself looking at my battered pair of old purple converse. The way that objects can tell a story. How people can just look at something and smile, or cry. As the memories come flooding back. As i stared at my old shoes i wondered. I thought about how many steps i had taken, how many places i had walked to and how many other people had walked there. I though about the time had walked through Liverpool and thought about the probability that at least one of the Beatles had walked in the exact spot as i had. Im not sure why but the thought made me feel sick.
Because that got me thinking about how all people feel. You think about yourself, but then there are other people. People just walking down the street, millions and millions of people. What are they thinking about? They all have their own worries. They are all getting somewhere. Where do they work? Do they have a family? Where do they live? Are they happy? It's just all so strange. It's all so distant.