His eyes were a bit blurry from the drink ; the lights looked haloed but he knew they weren't. There wasn't a breath of breeze. He felt hot and sweaty, like the park, like the city. He took his hat off and fanned himself with it. Then some three-quarter drunken impulse made him hold the hat still and stare at it. It had been a new hat three weeks ago ; he'd bought it while he was still working at the Blade. Now it looked like nothing on earth ; it had been run over by an auto ; it had rolled in a muddy gutter ; it had been sat on and stepped on. It looked like Sweeney felt.
The Screaming Mimi
Frederic Brown
1949
Blackmask.com
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