Leo didn't care about scuffs. He cared about the six-mile walk to the warehouse and the ten-hour shift on his feet. He entered his debit card info, watching the balance drop to nearly zero, and hit "confirm."

"The Last Pair," the header read. It was a clearinghouse for mismatched inventory and box-damaged returns. There, buried on page four, sat a pair of sturdy, black work boots in his exact size. They were marked down by eighty percent because of a "cosmetic scuff" on the heel.

The search bar felt like a portal. He typed "cheap sites to buy shoes" with fingers that shook slightly from caffeine and nerves. The screen flickered to life, revealing a digital bazaar of neon banners and ticking countdown clocks. He clicked through pages that smelled like synthetic leather and warehouse clearance sales.