On losing a hat

Four months ago my hat was lost. This was not the first time it had disappeared. I once paid to have it shipped to our old apartment from a hotel in St. Louis, where I had left it. I like to imagine my hat alone in its carefully prepared shipping box in the FedEx plane, like a passenger in one of those deluxe Qatar Airways cabins, resting in suffocated luxury. In the same year I also managed to leave it in New York. In fact, my hat took more solo flights in 2016 than the average American.

The hat in question is (or was: as we will see I have some curious opinions about the metaphysics of lost items) a white snapback cap with a navy bill.


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