Who?

Sometimes it's a lone sock. There's one of these in our car space at present. Not my sock mind. Sometimes it's a lone shoe.

But a pair of good, black slip-ons? Who did they belong to? How did they come to be here, by a derelict hotel, neatly a pace a part, but the wrong feet round? And, what happened next.

One doesn't linger long about old shoes, and especially other stranger's shoes. But the puzzle stays stubbornly in my mind.