Sam knocked on Quinn's door twice, then three times, than once more. No reply. Instead of waiting outside, he walked around back, entering through the basement door that Quinn never remembered to lock.
There, resting peacefully on a small coffee table, littered with beer cans and long-empty chip bags, was Quinn's fedora. Sam took a deep breath. He knew Quinn wouldn't want him touching his favorite hat, but he couldn't seem to resist the wide brim, black stitching, and rich gray fabric…
Sam turned to face the mirror on the wall beside him. He placed the fedora gently on his head, letting out a sigh as the felt brushed against his hair. The hat settled on his head, and Sam did his best to avoid letting out a loud moan. He had no idea why, or how, a fedora made him feel this way. Just as he began moving the fedora around, posing in the mirror, the basement door swung open.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Quinn stood in front of a petrified Sam. "And why are you wearing my fedora?"