Threads and buttons and leather looks

I’m very minimalist in what I wear. I tend to get paint on everything anyway. Besides, I’m not sure if I want to have garments that make people look at me, because I’m not quite sure what the point of that is.



There was a woman sitting across from me, on the tram. I noticed intricate patterns on her skirt. They were like nothing I’d seen before… but my mind started reminiscing about lace-work my nana made and that long, long dead relative that was a court embroider. The tiny delicate stitches. They were gold against the black and swirling. I was wondering who made it. I forgot it was a skirt... I forgot there was a woman wearing it, until I reached her shoe and looked up.

Her face was like a snarl that had been hit by a shovel as she looked at my plain shabby clothes splattered with paint. Okay, she didn’t get the same treat when she looked at my gear, so I guess it was rude to look upon the beauty and wealth of her material.

I told my friend Buddy about this. He said, “You just don’t want to look at women’s skirts, in general.”
“But it was so pretty.”
“Even more reason to not look apparently.”
“Why do they wear things that are so attractive if they don’t want people to look? She was just a middle-aged woman. I wasn’t eying her off, even if I was into that stuff.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been in trouble for it too.”

I get recycled clothes, this has to do with what I call “ethical economy”. My priority is for pockets. Also, Melbourne’s weather changes in a snap and I’m out for a sunny day and then the rain and wind comes in.
This happened recently, but I was lucky enough to be passing by a shop. And they had a nice red coat for me. Unfortunately this came with unknown problems… I found that my keys disappeared, for there was a hole in the pocket and my keys were jangling around in the lining of the coat.
Then, on the way home I was about to get off the tram when a nice young chap tapped me on the shoulder.
“You’re losing your buttons,” he said handing me one of my little cherry-red things.
“Thanks,” I said. Thinking about how he would feel if someone came up to him and said he’d lost his leather… coat. Yes he might just be as red as my button in some places.
Look, I was cold and hungry, and at the point of wanting to feast on some poor little fish or anything else that I could find. Clearly I was losing my buttons in more than one way.