I Left My Hat in Minneapolis

Listen. If you've ever talked to me in the winter, and we were outside, I had to have, without a doubt, mentioned to you that the red, yellow, and black striped hat that I was wearing was my favorite piece of clothing that I owned. You probably don't remember because you didn't care. But let me tell you that I did care. And I meant every word of it.  

Well, guess what?  Last week, I lost the hat. I had it when I entered that crappy hole-in-the-wall bar in Minneapolis, and then somewhere on my way back from puking in the bar's toilet to my hotel room, I no longer had it. What the hell? Where is my hat? I mean, it didn't just walk off, did it? You don't expect me to believe that, do you? Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes? Please! That hat invented the wool!!

I have no clue where it is. And I'm really sad about it. Right now, some Minneapolis bum probably cut two holes in it and is wearing it as an adult diaper. That lucky son of a bitch. Give it back!!! It doesn't belong to you!! That was my hat, my favorite hat. 

It's gone. Just gone. And I guess that the point in life, right? Things are just things, and they are fleeting. Fleethings, if you will. One day you have your hat. The next day some bum is wearing it as a diaper. Is that the meaning of life? Don't get attached to your headwear because one day it will become underwear? I don't know. All I know is that my stupid, imposter of a hat that I got at Urban Outfitters is annoying. It's all hipster and what not. I don't care for it. Hmm... Goodbye, hat. We'll always have Minneapolis.