Magic Pirate Coat

For the last few days I have been completely out of money. I was packing away my totally awesome black pirate coat when I felt paper rustle through the lining. The pockets are deep, some would say bottomless, and I reached into these dusky, magic depths and withdrew--like a rabbit from a hat--thirty-one dollars that had hitherto been gestating within the velvet womb.

I like the idea of bottomless pockets. I have decided that when I have my own place, it will be filled with every conceivable, unhelpful, and unnecessary knick-knack (I should clarify--my sword and musket collection), paddy-wack, curio, secret passageway, dead end, roomless doorway, and hidey-hole. As a child I was always in want of magic--I looked for it, found it (certainly), but it was never enough--it slipped through my fingers. One realizes with time that magic does not abandon you as you grow, but rather that it is not self-generating and requires a certain devotion to stock its stores.

That is why I vow to always keep pirate coats with bottomless pockets, filled with ever-replenishing supplies of of mints and sweets; double-bottomed drawers that hide treasure maps; yellowed, curling notes--scrawled with coded messages--tucked safely away in floorboards, in corners and under lamps and fastened to tables; hollow books for secret trinket trades.

If not pursued, Magic flickers out.