The elderly man sat on a wooden, rusted bench at the Birmingham station and realized he had no idea where his sky-high velvet hat had gone. He’d worn this lucky hat throughout his entire life, passed on from his great grandfather, generation after generation. He’d been to the coffee shop by the waterfront earlier that day before strolling to the station to catch a train to Worcester. 'Those bats at the coffee shop probably unraveling the yellow fabric on me lucky hat as I sit,' he thinks. The man rose to his feet, headed for the coffee shop, smoking with vengeance.
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