It was a cold night, the arctic air blowing in from the north, the darkness following. I had no choice but to wear my Old Navy winter coat, a puffy son-of-a-bitch. Doesn't help that it's a Large, slightly too big for me as far as Old Navy sizing goes, but the medium was too short. I was walking the streets of Harlem looking for a good slice of pizza, but none was too be had.
"Hey, you over there!" called a man.
The arctic air was frigid.
"You, the puffy bastard!"
I knew he must be talking to me.
"You look like a fool in that puffy jacket! It's way too big and puffy. Ha-ha!"
"I knew he was right, but a man can never admit defeat, especially to another man, especially to another man he doesn't know.
"Listen you god damned son-of-a-bitch," I screamed. "This jacket is warm and handsome, so leave me alone!"
A number of bystanders close by began chuckling and pointing at me.
"Look at the puffy bastard!" they laughed.
I never could find any good pizza in Harlem that night. And I still cannot find a good winter jacket. The saga continues. The saga of the Puffy Bastard.
