"These," Elias said, a grin finally breaking across his face. "These are the ones."

Next, he tried , a high-energy shop where the bass from the speakers vibrated in his chest. It was a neon-lit maze of neon laces and chunky soles.

The air in the city felt heavy with anticipation, or maybe it was just the humidity. Elias stood on the corner of 5th and Broadway, looking down at his feet. His old canvas sneakers were more "distressed" than "fashionable," with a hole in the left toe that let in the morning mist. He had a date tonight—a real one—and he needed a serious upgrade. "Where does a guy even start?" he muttered.

Elias backed away slowly. He wanted to look good, not declare bankruptcy.

"Those are limited edition," the clerk said, not looking up from a vintage magazine. "Drop-shipped from Milan. They cost more than my rent."

"I just want to go to dinner," Elias said. "Not colonize Mars."

Frustrated, he wandered toward the old part of town, where the buildings were brick and the signs were hand-painted. He stumbled upon , a shop that had been there since his father was a boy. The air smelled of cedar and beeswax.