The hat was a tired, army green with a short, dusty bill
and drooping ear flaps. The underside of the bill and the inside of the hat had
a fuzzy lining that kept out most of the chill. The World War II hat had
arrived at the present battered and unfashionable, but still warm as ever. There
was a tag on the inside with words he could read but information he didn’t
understand, except for the name. It was his grandfather’s last name and first
initial. It was all he had left of the man who had raised his mother.
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