Last night as I returned from work (where the Indian guy who reads with great volume and haltingness did two hours of Rabindranath Tagore poetry) my coat caught on our backyard fence. The coat I refer to is my red leather one, the one Dave’s dad gave me umpty million years ago, the one the guys down at Campaign used to call my commissar coat. There was a small hole in it, but nothing too drastic, a flap of leather exposing some of the seventies plaid lining. Just a bit more character, I’d thought. A bit of character and prime ripping territory it turned out.
So now the coat is pretty shredded down the back. To an unbearable degree. Reyn said he’d bring a jacket that used to be his dad’s to see if it’d fit me (its arms are too short for Reyn).campaign outfitters clothes dave reyn