By now you should know that this coatrack is actually the ever-elusive it. The Real Thing, to quote Faith No More. There are statues of Elvis and dead presidents, but no coatrack statues. For the coatrack is the statue itself... a testament in whatever form, medium, flavor, style, to some strange feeling that there should be a place for things.

A dash of I think I know... and I find myself strapped into chairs of rigid thinking... like how my dresser isn't a coatrack.

But it seems it is, no?

Coatrack/sweaterrack/flannelshirtrack... This desire for a place to put things, a place where things belong... Where did it come from? Walking out the door and thinking, Hmm, I need to go back and get a sweater...

Seeing it makes sense to put some new prop somewhere...well, there you go, it makes sense. Plant a sweater tree next to the door.

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