Pocket Pit Stop

The kitchen was winding down, so I trotted over to the entryway where a thick canvas jacket was dangling low on the coat rack. I hooked my gloves into the chunky brass zipper, scrambled right up the teeth, and vaulted headfirst into the wide hip pocket. The deep lining was stitched with brushed plaid flannel that squished comfortably around my sneakers. Down in the corner, my toe bumped into a heavy copper penny, smooth and cool against the warm fabric. I leaned back against the soft cotton, resting my quills while the hallway settled into quiet shadows.