By: Justin Ocelot.

My coat sneaks out every night. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me. I clamber out the window and follow it through dark and lonely streets.

In the park, gloves dance across the keys of a harpsichord. Empty shoes stomp and spin. Silk gowns twirl in the moonlight. One-by-one, coats and jackets, as pressed and new as the gowns, join in the dance.

But not mine. It hovers in the shadows and watches.

The next morning, I visit the tailor.

“This coat,” I say, “needs to be made like new. And for the lining, can you use your best silk?”

© 2026. Justin Ocelot

Justin Ocelot collects impossible puzzles, lost causes, and infinite maps. He writes stories without training wheels (they aren’t safe and you might fall off). More info at justinocelot.com.

Posted April 22, 2026.