the Hat

The problem with having expensive things is loosing them.  

I got a nice hat recently.  A part of myself felt like I was the character in Bob Dylan’s song, the one with the leopard skin pillbox hat.  I felt cool in my wool, tweed brown, bowler hat with feathers on the side.  I put it down on subway seat next to me, waiting for the Q train and took the train to the City.  I only realized that it was gone when I was crossing Manhattan Bridge.  I wonder who is wearing my hat now.  And I wonder if they feel as cool as me.  Maybe even more, because they got it for free.  

It’s only a material possesion, I thought, but how much better would it be to walk into the party with my special hat on.  

The ego is a powerful dream that gives stregth and torture.

 

2 responses to “the Hat

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