The season of black down jackets is here. Long, short, puffy and slim. Some with designer labels, others from Kohl’s. They keep you warm but keep you on your toes. When you are leaving home, the jacket you pull from the closet feels tight. Because it’s your wife’s. Outside, you think you recognize a friend, but it’s just another black figure bundled in down.
At the coffee shop, you think twice about hanging your jacket on a hook with six lookalikes, so you put your scarf in the sleeve, hoping that anyone who grabs yours by mistake will realize it right away. And when you go to retrieve it, it’s still there, but you try on the gloves you left in the pockets just to make sure.
Then you’re out on the street again, another bouncing black blob, wondering whatever happened to that woolen duffle coat you had in college, with the wood toggles instead of buttons. You know, the green one.