Jack ran his hand over the fabric. It was thick, almost velvety. He tried it on, and the weight of it felt like an anchor in a storm. He checked the buttons—thick pearl-snap—and the stitching, which was reinforced at the elbows. It wasn't just a shirt; it was armor for the suburbs.
He walked into the local outfitter, a place that smelled faintly of cedar and woodsmoke. The wall of flannel was overwhelming—a grid of tartans, buffalo checks, and solid heathers. buy flannel
The clerk pulled a heavy from the rack. "You want the brushed cotton. It’s napped on both sides. That’s what creates the air pockets that keep you warm." Jack ran his hand over the fabric