The Oxford Alignment

I crossed the threshold back into the apartment, letting the heavy door latch shut out the nocturnal murmurs of the avenue. Upon the dark parquet, a pair of polished black leather oxfords stood slightly askew, one waxed lace trailing across the grain. Approaching with measured strides, I took hold of the slender cord between both hands. With steady, deliberate care, I guided the dark aglet over the instep, tucking it cleanly beneath the tongue. Bracing my boots against the floor, I nudged the left shoe until both burnished toe-caps stood in immaculate, parallel alignment facing the corridor. The threshold has reclaimed its quiet order.