A librarian cures noisy quarrels by asking people to swap shoes at the door—and to walk a page in them.
**Hook:** The library was quiet, except for arguments that rustled louder than newspapers. Aisles echoed with certainty. The librarian stacked a new sign: Shoes Off, Shoes Swap.
**Rise:** Visitors grumbled but complied, slipping into labeled slippers: “Farmer,” “Nurse,” “New father,” “Immigrant,” “Boss,” “Laid off.” Beside each chair, a short card: three sentences, true and ordinary—blisters, night shifts, a parent abroad. As readers paced between shelves, their feet found new maps. The nurse in “Boss” shoes walked slower. The retired colonel in “Immigrant” sandals stood taller. Debates softened into discussions, then into shared notes in margins: “I didn’t know.”
A teenager tried on “Laid off” and returned with a stack on starting over. A politician in “New father” loafers left early to make it home for bedtime, looking embarrassed and relieved.
**Finish:** By month’s end, the library was noisier with laughter and quieter with blame. The sign gained a subtitle: Empathy—Open Edition. **Moral:** Perspective is a library; borrowing is how we learn.
