river and boots

I stood on the edge of the Brisbane River and felt utterly compelled to dive in. Though I knew it was not entirely suitable for swimming, I succumbed. I left the bank and shot through the blue-green water, surfacing around the middle of the river. I saw a shadow pass across the river to my right; I was not sure if it was a shark, a crocodile or a person, so I continued on my way but lifted my body out of the water so that I skimmed the water's surface. At the other side, it was shallow and murky. I decided to swim back but had to navigate around the musicians that appeared, performing from their vantage on the river bed. I swam around them and made my way back to the other side. There, I noticed that a couple of younger people had followed my lead and I felt terribly responsible, as though I had followed an irrepressible urge that had somehow led others astray.
Later, I was at a cobbler's shop, somewhere in a tunnel under the city. I passed the female cobbler my boots that I wear everyday and discovered, to my horror, that they were absolutely worn and full of tiny tears and holes. I couldn't fathom that they had worn out so rapidly, or that I had not noticed they were terribly made and of the poorest leather. My boots, the shoes I wear to walk around each day, had worn out.