It had been a long day at the Cooper Young Fest. I had cured countless people of their repulsive partyofilia, and as a brief and entirely insufficient reward for my services, I let my mighty mind wander for a bit to my own concerns.
My thoughts drifted to my winter wardrobe and certain additions it required.
I needed something attractive yet intimidating, something that radiated my native intelligence, competence and psychiatric power.
What, I wondered, could be more perfect for a therapist of my prestige than a beagle-skin blazer?
There wasn’t much in the way of domestic fur-goods among the festival booths, obsessed as they were with art, crafts, and other desperate cries for attention, but still I persevered.
And at last I found it. The solution to my winter outerwear dilemma: a booth simply titled Dog Coats.