A trail is not a miracle, but simply footprints, and as for me, I missed my train.

Wow, this is something.

Why on earth did it end up like this?

Men in the same uniforms, holding mops and buckets, spoke with troubled expressions, yet with a hint of a smile. They were the station cleaners.
Black footprints continued in dots across the floor. Judging by the size of the shoes and the stride, they seemed to be from an adult man.

I ran into the cleaning men just after I had passed through the ticket gate.
I started walking through the station to transfer, and somehow, I found myself following those dotted footprints with my eyes.

Admittedly, this is quite something. Even though this is a place where all sorts of people walk in their street shoes every day, is it really possible for so many footprints to remain?
They aren't distinct shoe prints, but they continue at a steady pace without fading, no matter how far they go.

Feeling intrigued, I followed the footprints through the station as I headed toward my destination.
I wonder if this person realizes they are leaving behind such a grand trail. But then again, maybe you don't notice your own footprints.
After all, footprints are made behind you. If you're walking straight ahead without realizing your shoes are dirty, you wouldn't see them, even if your tracks were glowing like a rainbow or stamped with paw prints.
Perhaps this person is just a very positive individual.

To the cleaners, these footprints continuing for such a long distance must be a troublesome, unexpected task that makes them think, 'Oh man, give me a break.' But as I followed them for a while, I began to feel a strange sense of attachment, or perhaps a mysterious excitement, toward those tracks.

Where is he headed?
Oh, he veered slightly to the right. Was it crowded with the morning rush? I see, I see. So he's the type to cut through between these pillars.

Ah, I'm almost at the ticket gate. The footprints are still continuing. I wanted to follow his destination a little longer. I wish I could have seen the final point.
Where are you going? Will you never notice your own footprints?

By the way, other people can see this too, right? Despite that, no one passing by shows any interest in these rather conspicuous footprints. People walk by briskly, sometimes even stepping on them, as if there were nothing there at all.

If these were truly glowing like a rainbow and no one else could see them, I might start to think it was some kind of revelation for me, but such a fantasy doesn't happen.
Besides, the cleaning men are clearly looking at them. They look black to me, and they surely look like black dirt to the cleaners as well.

The footprints stopped near the flower shop in the station.
Hmm...? Did he buy flowers? But would the footprints just disappear because he stopped at a flower shop? Are these footprints some kind of evil spirit?
Or did he get his shoes washed at the flower shop? That's ridiculous. Or were they the footprints of the flower shop clerk...?
Feeling a bit disappointed that the journey ended sooner than expected, I saw the footprints continuing again from the side of the flower shop.

...They're still there!
I see, perhaps this person passed through here before the flower shop opened, before all the items were displayed in front of the store. That might be why the footprints around here were hidden by the shop's displays, or perhaps they looked like they stopped because the flower shop had cleaned them.
A sharp deduction suddenly crossed my mind, making it even more interesting.
I can't exactly lick the floor like Conan, but if they continue, I still want to follow them.
I want to know this mystery. There is always only one truth. There are countless footprints.

After a while, when the flow of people increased and it became difficult to find the footprints, I suddenly looked up.
I had long since passed the ticket gate I was supposed to go through.

What are you talking about?

This is a phrase I learned recently. I found it in an article by
Leon Saruogi, and it was very interesting.

'What are you talking about?' is a magic phrase popularized by Kinoko Konishi, and since I wanted to try writing it too, I wrote down whatever came to mind about the footprints I happened to see, and it ended up being, well, I'm not sure what I'm talking about.

It was interesting to see the 'What are you talking about?' posts from various people, each with their own unique flavor. There is also a magazine for it.

Personally, I like it when the story is grand or the details are intricate, as it seems to heighten the voltage of the 'What are you talking about?' feeling.
I'll try writing it again sometime.
Kinoko Konishi, thank you for letting me use it!
Your thoughts on 'What are you talking about?' and the postscripts of each communication really hit home.