Mohair Aesthetic

They make these dog toy ropes out of dozens of randomly colored strands of junk string.

It makes me think of a mohair sweater I used to wear a decade or two ago. Seemed like many differently colored hairs woven into a black base. It seemed like it was knit from shredded recycled pieces.

Something else comes to mind, from when I was a kid. I was probably six years old.

I wore a dark windbreaker in the pre-nylon-windbreaker days, so it was probably cotton or poly. A hand-me-down from another family, probably a friend of my mom's.

The last kid had shredded the pockets from carrying around rocks and sharp-edged junk. Different colored strands squirted out of the shreds when you pulled the pockets inside-out, which I did frequently.

Strings of random colors against the faded charcoal skin.

I tried to pet somebody's Great Dane wearing this jacket, even after the owner warned me not to. It bit into my right sleeve and shook my arm like a dead rabbit. I felt its savage power leap up my arm and into my gut.

When it finally let go I jumped back, too overwhelmed even to cry. I ran across the street to my own back yard and leaned against the house. My arm buzzed with the viciousness of that encounter for what seemed like hours, but was probably ten minutes. All I could do was stare at my arm, transfixed by the splotches of dog spit and snot that marked the jacket sleeve.

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