Grey Coat and Some Rain

Overweight with too-thick threads that leave handholds for the misting rain, slate grey blended with the skies hanging heavy and chilled on abjectly satisfied shoulders, impractical, fashionable, impulsively new, with an excitement that lingers over unnecessary extravagance, out-of-season and contradictory to a need for fresh and free and unburdened he cannot feel the frigid weight in the fabric or pittering percussion of the condensation of sighs like the moaning winter winds, eerie among the trees and the crags where he left the freight of troubles and the pragmatism that would pick out some useful gore-tex instead of these natural fibers that give him one more touchpoint with the life that seems to seep out and rush in against the cold, dispassionate loneliness where a silhouette remains impressed in vision and corporeal inside the newly fashioned arms of a whitewashed man who cannot release what is too worn to keep

The coat was ruined off the rack.  He paid for it, indifferent.