The Saturday after Joe got home, he had all the tires changed at the Sears store. It was better than going to the garage – smelled better, for one thing, and there was more to look at. You could go up to the second floor and examine the hats, for example. (He liked hats, as you’ll see.) A new hat made a good impression, and what do you know: Sears had a fresh shipment with that thinner brim that was popular these days. Thinner brims, thinner lapels, thinner ties. Thicker cars and thicker steaks. Good time to be alive.

He bought a charcoal gray hat with a feather in the brim, wondering what bird did this come from, and how did it get to Sears?

When he went back down to the garage to get his car from the Allstate man, the fellow didn’t seem to notice his hat at all. Figures. As the man wrote up the order he lit a Chesterfield with a Zippo, and Joe couldn't help notice the design. He'd always liked Zippos on principle, but he always ran out of fluid or flints. Matches were easier. And they were always different. You could lose them without missing much, too. On the other hand no one ever had a lucky matchbook they'd carried ever since Bataan. But he hadn't been at Bataan.

You have any matches? he asked.

The Sears man slid his Zippo across the counter.

Thanks, but I need some matches. For later.

"Yeah, sure. Somewhere. Hold on . . .

Two, if you don't mind.

"Here you go. Okay, put this on your account?"

The next day he lent the book to a pal to use; he looked at the matches, grinned, and said "you had to spring for a new set, huh? I hate spending money on tires. You're out half a week's pay, and it doesn't seem like you got anything for it. You don't go faster. You don't stop quicker. It's just tires."

Joe nodded. He wondered why his friend hadn't noticed the hat. Maybe it was the feather.

Maybe Sears just made that bird up.

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New revised Chapter Two is here.