COAT STORY
I watch you from the corner of the room - whiskey over ice, now whiskey underwater - talking away to a stranger like you'd known them all your life. You'll forget their name later, I bet, but you're not here to make friends - you just like the energy. I get it - I feel the same. It's not this energy that compels me though. I'm not moved by your easy charm nor by your impossibly wide grin. Not even by the sweet, uncertain double-blink you do whenever anyone says your name out loud. It's nothing so predictable as that. No - it's your coat that soothes me. A long, mafia-don number. A size too big, so it's not worn, but draped; creating a musical curve from your shoulder right down to your toes. There's just something about the right coat that outstrips any other item of clothing a person could wear, and, when it comes to coats, it's honest lines, and an elegant cut that captivate me most. I can spot a beautiful coat from a mile away and take deep pleasure in watching it flow towards me and on into a future I have no business imagining. That's ok. Most coats come and go - though I hope yours will stay. You look over and flash a private smile - one that says 'I'm doing it! It's going well!' Ok - maybe it's not just the coat that captivates. Maybe it's everything within it. But still, I love your deep pockets. I love that I'm the only one that can share them. I love the way you wear your seams in places only I can see. And I love that later this evening that coat will be placed with care on a small hook in my hallway because, when I see it there, I know that of all the hooks you could hang that coat on - you chose mine.