It was gray and woolen. It was soft and fuzzy. It had unusually long fringes that jumped in a staccato merriment when tossled. She always received compliments on it, but she didn’t need any really. Its warmth was enough.
Winter was cumbersome though, she always wore several layers of clothing and peeled them off slowly when inside.
She sat on the edge of the orange subway seat talking to her friend, they were in a lively conversation about chickpeas, a.k.a. garbanzo beans or channa. They were on a long ride, so some winter layers were taken off. They almost missed their stop.
Penelope jumped up and ran out of the subway after her friend, scarf trailing behind her attached to her bag, sort of, but definetly not around her neck. It caught in the closing subway doors, but they didnt open up to release it. The subway took off with her scarf blowing around wildly like a frantically waving relative who was going away. And she was just as sad to see it go.
The subway was elevated at this point and so the scarf released its last tentacle from the doors and careened down into the street below. It fell fast, because it was heavy and substantial, hence its warmth.
Below stood a man and his two daughters. The scarf came tumbling down on one of the girls heads. They thought it was a riot of course, being that they were 4 and 6 years old. The father immediately picked it off of her head and started to throw it away, but the girl wailed in sadness “Noooo! Daddy Noooo!”, she cried, with her arms outstretched. So he was convinced to take the scarf home and get it washed and take it from there. And so they did.