I've stolen the philosopher's jacket. He was wearing it the first time I noticed him in Latin class. It has remained in the closet for 14 years- pretty much unworn most of the time. But I wouldn't let him throw it away.

It is olive green courderoy. It is pretty rough looking. It has been worn. He used to keep a rock in the pocket to strike his matches on when he smoked the camels. It has some serious mojo for me- it is our past in a way. And I am going to wear it on bad days. Reminding me that there is a coat for every mood.

Ha Ha! I say. Take that Kierkegaard you depressive Nordic bastard!(who btw was born on cinco de Mayo- Old Soren invokes Coronas, getting fucking loaded and puking in an Oaxaca gutter to me- don't know bout you)