“I like your shoes.” The barista said.

“My shoes?” I said, taken aback by the strange compliment. I was standing at the till, waiting to pay for my drink. There was no way he could see my shoes unless he had seen me waiting in line moments earlier.

“Yes, the way they come to a point. It’s exciting.”

“Oh, thank you…?” I said, punching in my pin.

“How do you feel about receipts?” He asked.

“Oh, no that’s fine. I don’t need it.” I smiled.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to have them.” He looked me straight in the eyes.

I felt puzzled, as I walked away. I wondered what he meant.