“Why the long face?”
“I lost something very dear to me.”
“No, my umbrella.”
After a few too many road sodas this weekend, some lucky son-of-a-gun on the Lower East Side is now the owner of one of my most prized possessions – an umbrella that’s actually worth feeling sorry about leaving behind. This was not some second rate substitute that you pick up for five bucks from some guy hawking them on the street corner during an afternoon downpour, this was daresay, a friend. Granted, it was all black, had a broken end (from me pretending it was a cane a few too many times), and had a giant logo on it, but dammit if it didn’t see me through some grey days.
So, you can bet what my purchase is going to be, an umbrella that’s as well made as the garb that it’s keeping dry, if not better. Maybe even this guy from Swaine Adeney Brigg if I happen to win the lottery sometime soon. Until then, I’ll be praying for clear skies.