My trench coat went on a rant last night, or that’s what I would have done if I was it.
It takes effort for it to retain the fresh new scent from the cleaners and fresh perfume from its owner.
But the universe, for some reason, creates such high magnetism towards me that I always have to bump into, rub past and collide with an unknown creature.
And who endures the brutal effect? My long-black-warm Trench Coat.
The Trench that has been basking evenly in my closet until the sun decided, you know what, this year am taking a vacation for some months.
There should be a record of the sun’s leave days because even the trench coat can attest that this is abuse.
Being stuck with a grey uneven blanket of cold hovering over me and the many strangers is not fun sun.
Yesterday, the trench coat and I endured a breath taking experience, literally.
Since I couldn’t take anymore of the stinking armpits I started sneezing uncontrollably which created a small cold.
The stranger could see his stinking effect but he tried to stay cool and collected.
‘Please be a champ and alight already?’ my nose cried.
How about when the driver passed the bus stop and decided to define where my home should be.
‘Who are you trying to direct mister?’, my legs voiced out.
Now, this gets me, very bad.
I pass this young men holding a small cardboard with plastic nails stuck to it and selling to someone close enough to identify the late lunch they had.
Not just that, they tap you to get their attention.
‘Come on now, stop with the touching naaah! I don’t know you…’, my trench coat blasts out.
After the hustle and bustle, in the laundry basket, lies the worn out trench coat tattooed with the untold tales of the countless estranged encounters, in need of some love and care, just as Francesca found love and family in the intrusion of strangers.
Happy Reading 💚
44 Charles Street
Image Credits to: Liam Seskis