When I was in college in New York City, I was walking down my block towards Fifth Ave. on West 10th St. It was a cool late autumn afternoon. The street was quiet almost empty. Two ballet students were walking down the sidewalk in front of me, arm in arm. They suddenly parted. Then, just as quickly, the girls came back together their arms rejoining. The cause of their parting was something sitting in the middle of sidewalk. I took a few steps, bent down and picked it up. It was a brown Stetson Gun Club hat. I looked at it for a second, dusted it off and placed it on my head. It fit perfectly. I wore it all that winter. Sometime in the early spring, I went to listen to some jazz at Bradley's on University Place. I left it at the bar late that night. I went back in a light snow the next morning. The street looked clean and beautiful but the hat was gone. I loved that hat. I was proud of it. I miss it still...
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