The Uphill Slide

There is always something.

It’s The Hat

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I’m excited when I spot the same stranger more than once in my travels. It’s anonymous in the city. Lost in the crowd. No one knows that you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Granted, Pittsburgh is a small city. A series of neighborhoods rolling one into the other. Maybe that’s the makeup of all cities. But when I recognized the same two strangers in Squirrel Hill that I had driven past in Edgewood, it was unexpected. Well, not really recognized the people. Recognized the hat. Now I’ve seen the people. 50s or 60s. She with shoulder length blond hair and he with short grey hair. White. Slim and trim. A couple appearing at ease with each other. But she must wear that straw hat for me to recognize them again. It’s the secret sign.

But winter is coming; the hat will go into a box.

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