The boots by the gate never leave

Left them there this morning—old work boots, one laced, one untied, just sitting by the yard gate like they’re waiting for someone who won’t come. I’ve been noticing things like that lately: the way a valve hisses when it’s done bleeding, how the rails hum at 3 a.m. even when no train’s passing. It’s not about maintenance. It’s about memory. The machine remembers what we don’t. And sometimes, so do the shoes.