Filthy Jacket

As you hold it in your hands, it makes an uncomfortable crunching sound...

Why did I fondle the shit jacket again?

There is no why.

Let's just put it away then.

Man, how did this jacket get so disgusting?

It's a sordid, filthy tale, not for the weak. Are you sure you can stomach it?

Some secrets are better left uncovered. Don't even try, seriously.

Don't think about it.

Good choice. The less you think about the jacket, the better.

On second thought, let's do think about it.

It occurs to you that you're not even holding the jacket itself, but rather the thick crust of jetsam and seagull shit that ensconces it.

It smells like a dead sea creature, tangled in grey strands of seaweed. It must have spent quite some time in the water before the tide deposited it ashore...

Okay, but what's the crust made of?

Somehow it was carried or dragged to the boardwalk, if not by human hands than perhaps the feral dogs that prowl the beaches at night...

The faint impressions of many footprints are also present, though it's impossible to tell what kind or how many. Suffice to say, the jacket spent some time on the ground before someone draped it over the railing...

What happened once someone put it on the railing?

The crust is hard. This jacket spent at least a day baking in the sun. Who knows what happened to it then?

Somewhere, high above the city, a pair of seagulls trace loops through the air...

They are like the bombardiers of the aerostatic brigades, gliding above a target-rich environment...

All of a sudden, the bomb bay doors open, and their white glittering payload rushes to the ground...

SPLAT. An explosion of white on a man's shoe. A curse goes up, but the birds do not hear.

I feel like I really understand this jacket now. [Put the jacket away.]

Why did I just spend all this time thinking about seagull shit?

It's too late! You've already thought about it. And now your hands are covered in muck!

Maybe if I wipe my hands on my pants?

What? No! Then it'll just be on your pants. This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.

Ew, ew, ew! (Flick your hands.)

Now you're just flicking that shit everywhere! This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.

I'm just going to pretend I didn't think about any of this.

Okay, that's pretty disgusting. I've had enough.

Why, why did you think about it? Look at your hands -- They're covered in muck!

Gross.

[Put the filthy jacket away.]

Think about it.

Let's not think about that right now. [Put the filthy jacket away.]

It's probably better that way.