Summary: Jackets and pockets and nameless strangers.
Setting: Young Dick. Circus; strangers.
Words: 152 words (officially)
Disclaimer: DC owns. Fair use.
Notes: I apologise in advance if something like this has already been done by much better authors than me. But I'm finally getting a muse back after six months without, finally getting an interest in writing again, and this is very close to my heart as a result. I wanted to share.
LINT
There was a ball of lint inside the jacket pocket.
It wasn't his jacket. It was...just a jacket. Someone else's. Too fancy. Not his. Someone...nameless. Just a face in the crowd. But there was a ball of lint in the pocket. Just a little bit. He could feel it, rolling around, in the pocket between his fingers.
There was a lot of faces in the crowd tonight. Had been a lot of faces. So many faces. Swarming all over him. Touching him. Talking at him. And somehow he had ended up with this jacket, with the ball of lint in its pocket. Over his co...over his clothes...
Because what was a costume without...
There was a ball of lint inside the jacket pocket. Maybe, maybe if he kept rolling it, between his fingers, he'd find his way to the jacket's owner.
Maybe then someone would take him home.