He didn't just want a coat; he wanted a bunker he could wear. He’d seen the Arctic Parkas on the commute—the distinct silhouette, the heritage vibe that looked like it belonged both on a 1970s Alaskan pipeline worker and a modern gallery owner.
"I'm looking to survive the walk back to the train," Elias replied.
The wind hit him again, harder this time, swirling snow into his face. Elias didn't hunch. He zipped the snorkel hood up to his chin, shoved his hands into the fleece-lined pockets, and started walking. For the first time since he’d arrived, the city didn't feel like an enemy. It just felt like home.
He pulled out his phone, fingers already numbing, and typed a desperate command into the search bar:
The search results flooded in. He bypassed the fast-fashion knockoffs and clicked a link for a local boutique that stocked the authentic ones. He needed to feel the weight of it.
"Looking to survive the weekend?" the clerk asked, grinning.
He didn't care about the price tag. He tapped his card, felt the satisfying beep of a successful transaction, and walked back out into the gale.