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Bus Story: It’s Always Tea Time Somewhere

January 15, 2016

His rust-colored long coat flares out dramatically as he launches himself down the aisle of the bus. With one hand, he steadies his step by grabbing the railings, while the other hand is aloft, steadying the pile of hats on his head. There is a knit ski hat, a baseball cap, a slightly misshapen homburg, and an oilskin covered fedora. With the sigh of a thousand injustices, he sits. He quietly rides along, with only the occasional growl of discontent. Madness is not required to be a hatter, but being sanity-adjacent helps.

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