I saw his bare legs first. 

Shorts on an icy November morning? 

Then there was the flounce.   Two or three inches of hem bobbing away under a conservatively cut biege overcoat.  Expensive patterned scarf wrapped around his neck.  Dog tugging him down the sidewalk just ahead of me on my route to the coffee shop.  Sashayed right up to the counter, placed an order and while he stood there waiting I took in the slits on both sides of the tattered material.

A nightshirt!

Apparently this article of clothing did not die with Pa Ingalls and can be easily acquired in seersucker, herringbone, broad cloth, madras, and cotton in addition to the obvious flannel.  Goes from the bedroom to the coffee shop with style and guts. 

The new kilt!

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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