Coat Watching Today

As I leave the house in the upper west on this slightly crisp morning, my gloves lie eagerly on the counter in the hall, yipping for a walk. They happily snug over my hands and dance around the door handle. I do not go people watching in the mornings, as people are largely wallpaper and more predictable than a hedgehog. I, MY readers, go coat watching.

Today Mrs Kernel's coat greets the letterbox begrudgingly. It shrugs under the shoulders and lopsidedly grimaces at the neck. Further down the street, two close friends greet each other, then tangle when stepping back from embrace. This is slightly mortifying for each. One tries to tuck away it's fraying hem, the other silently vows to have its buttons removed. Ms Rothesteinchildsson's coat follows behind her like a happy puppy, nuzzling in all the right places. Her coats always Do What They're Told.

My good friend Karl is in town and is staying in his apartment uptown. He has had assistance paint all the windows black so that the sunlight doesn't get cheeky. I have a gift for him under my left arm, wrapped unassumingly in burburry wrapping paper - excellent for a cold day. Someone with a thousand little stars painted on their face and entirely few clothes yells out to my parcel in a quaint accent. I freeze her with my eyes and keep walking.

Karl's bow needs rehairing today. Poor, little bow. It's frizzy like a frump. I know what you are thinking, readers. You think that Karl is playing the Cello - au contraire. He quite liked the idea of playing an instrument, so he went to the store and bought what appealed. Upon realizing you cannot make music with just a bow, he now uses it to whip assistants when he wants things done.

It gets rehaired every two weeks.

- Just because I do not know the meaning of my paintings when I paint them, does not mean they have no meaning.
The man at the coffee shop's coat tells me this. Was that Dali? It does not reply.

I stop at Tiffanies.
- Are these blood diamonds?
The attendant looks horrified.
- I only like blood diamonds. They have a certain edge.
The assistant's lip curls - We do not sell blood diamonds
- AND why not?
- Because they are the result of human slave trafficking and the money goes to tyrants who abuse their workers -
- Oh! I hadn't realized De Beers had taken over the blood diamond market!
A single, thin, gloved finger, hovers over my lip like a stray branch. - I guess one should have assumed that would happen.
The assistant presses a button under the counter. I depart leading neck first. I do love an early morning assistant sashing.

I reach Karl's apartment and knock out a death knell. An assistant answers the door with a red stripe running the length of his face.
- I have bought Karl a new bow. - I say - So that he needent be without whilst his favourite is getting rehaired.
The assistant's expression is hard to discern.
- Run along, now, and find me some champagne. I am very thirsty after a good walk.

Praying To Myself