I love long, lightweight parkas like this Phigvel jawn because they fit into the fictional narrative I've created about living in Northern England where I assume it rains all the time. Sometimes I think about being a cool drug dealer, but sometimes I also think about being, like, a private investigator. Like, I'll never be a cop because fuck those swagless uniforms and the institutionalized and systemic power they wield over our bodies. But I would be a dope P.I. that, like, failed out of law school and the stigma of that is a bit much for me to handle, but I use what I learned along with contacts in the underworld aka my childhood friends to help out disenfranchised people in my community. I'd get hired to assist a local weed wholesaler recover his stolen gear and I'd uncover a political corruption scandal and get to carry a revolver because down on their luck private investigators always have inefficient firearms. So, yeah, I'd wear this parka while I trudged through the gray city, revolver and cigarettes in the pockets, serving as literary symbols of my outmoded worldview.
