It is the time of year when coats accompany everyone like second skins, making friends and acquaintances immediately identifiable even from a distance when outside, remaining behind as a reminder of their presence when they get up to go to the bathroom or find a book. They add so much to people's personalities that they are like character in physical form. I can almost imagine that if I wore another person's coat for a while, I would eventually become that person. Forget shoes, walk a mile in someone else's coat. Put on James Dean's jacket and lean against a brick wall with a cigarette and soon enough you'll be slightly mournful and act recklessly. Take Lincoln's jacket and stand at a lectern and surely great eloquence will flow from your lips.

I'm surprised there isn't some ritual involving the resurrection of the dead by means of their coat. Well, there's that scene in Beetlejuice I guess. I can't help but think there's more of a person in his or her coat than in any other object they keep with them. The question then arises, does the personality come from the coat or does the coat pick it up over time, like a cat rolling around on concrete? Does the coat call out to its future wearer from the clothing rack? Does a tailor possess the creative power of a deity?

A coat resting on the back of a chair, when its wearer is somewhere else, transforms a whole room into a warehouse for souls. It sits inert, waiting for the mind that it completes to return. I almost expect that its wearer will sprout from beneath it, arms filling out sleeves, and walk away. At any moment, the coat itself might just rise into mid-air and start cooking dinner or watching television.