I live there.

The psychiatrist made a note. But wouldnt you like to do something better with your life? Like get a good job and be a productive member of society?

Harry shook his head, I work.

The psychiatrist made another note. Washing dishes isnt much of a job.

Harry just looked, trembling slightly inside.

Now that you are free from alcohol you should be able to find a place to live with nicer surroundings.

Harry shook his head, his confusion showing in his expression.

The psychiatrist made a note. Would you like to go some place to rest and get some help in evaluating your—Harry was shaking his head—life and not go back to that old environment?

Harry was still shaking his head, No… no, no nut house.

Well now, thats not really—Harry continued shaking his head—the proper way to… the psychiatrist looked at Harry intently, disbelief in his expression and voice, Dont you want to better yourself?

Harry stopped shaking his head and stared at the psychiatrist, almost wanting to explain to him that he had found the most comfortable life he had ever had and was going to stay there, but could summon up neither the necessary energy nor the desire. Now at least the psychiatrist was no longer a problem to Harry, the enigma was solved: he was jut another dogooder trying to get involved in someone elses life. Harry stopped frowning and even started to relax slightly…. Im fine.

The psychiatrist looked at Harry, exasperated, then slammed the metal binder on the record shut and left.

On the day of his discharge a ward attendant was sent to get Harrys clothing, and Harry started to pace. The tension in his body became more and more acute as he looked at the drab ugliness around him, then out the window at the snow and the trees bending in the wind. He felt the heat from the radiator, then touched his nose to the cold window….

then turned and started pacing again.

After half an hour he went to the nurses station and asked where his clothes were. He was told to relax, that the attendant would be back shortly. He started pacing again, his anxiety and tension becoming so intense he felt brittle, walking from one end of the floor to the other, from time to time looking out the window.

Eventually the charge nurse decided to call and see where the attendant was, assuming he was goldbricking. When she spoke to the clerk in the clothing room she was told that the attendant was still there, that Mr. Wrights clothing could not be found but they were still looking. Well, you tell Walter to come back to the ward and when you find his clothing give us a call. Ward B3W.

Harry caught bits of the tail end of the conversation, Whats that? Cant they find my coat?

They seem to be having some difficulty Mr. Wright, but -

The color instantly drained from Harrys face and his legs weakened, Ive got to have my coat. He leaned against the counter in the nurses station. I got to have my coat!

Just relax Mr. Wright. Dont upset yourself.

Harry was trembling and staring at them, Wheres the clothing room? I’ll find it. Where do they keep the -

Mr. Wright—spoken authoratitively—you must relax or youll have a relapse and -

Just tell me where the room is. I’ll find my coat. I’ll find it… Harry was clinging desperately to the counter, feeling weaker by the second, the room starting to spin, his vision blurring… he could no longer feel his feet or legs. He started to sag, semiconscious and sobbing almost incoherently as he relived his long fight to save his coat, feeling the death-like emptiness of separation from the most valuable thing in his life, a friend that was at least as valuable as his life itself…

He pulled himself to his feet and pleaded with them to tell him where the clothes room was, I can find my coat… I know I can… I can find it anywhere… I -

Mr. Wright please, you must con -

Walter returned from the clothes room, dropping the clothes receipt on the counter, They cant find his clothes anywhere, Miss Wilson.

Let me look, I can find it… and Harry continued to plead and tremble and cling desperately to the counter as a nurse tried to quiet him.

Miss Wilson glanced at the papers quickly then asked Walter what name the clerk had looked under?

Whatever names on there I guess.

She showed him the admission sheet, He was a John Doe when he was admitted. See, theres also an I.D. number. Mr. Wright, what sort of clothing did you have?

A big army coat. I can find it in a minute…

Miss Wilson called the clothing room and told them what to look for, and what name and number.

It seemed like forever to Harry as he remained suspended between life and death, the only thing proving to him that he was alive was the curious pain twisting and clawing within him, but in just a few minutes Walter was back with Harrys clothes. They had been sterilized, but they still looked and smelled funky and Walter carried them at arms length from him and wrinkled his nose. Harry grabbed his clothes and hugged them to him, almost crying, and rushed to the mens room to get dressed. He sat on a commode half laughing, half crying, hugging and cradling his coat, telling it how much he loved it and had been waiting for it and he would not have let them keep him away that he didnt have to worry that no matter what happened he would have found him… rocking back and forth, tears rolling down his cheeks, sobbing and laughing with relief…

Harry started down the hospital steps when a gust of wind blew snow in his face and momentarily blinded him. He grabbed the hand rail, feeling the cold metal on his hand and the wind biting his face. He pulled his watch cap down around his ears and yanked the large collar of his great coat up around his head and nestled deep into his coat like a butterfly in a cocoon and smiled from deep inside himself. He could feel the cold on his nose and the warmth of his body. His coat was even warmer than he remembered. His lovely and wonderful coat.

The wind stopped and he went down the stairs, holding the railing, the ground slippery and treacherous. When he reached the bottom he shoved his cold hands in his pockets and looked around. There were large snow banks on the sides of the street, its gray filth showing through the whiteness of the newly fallen snow. He started walking cautiously, over the patches of ice everywhere, feeling his body moving inside his coat, hearing the wind and feeling the snow and laughing at them.

He walked carefully down the street to the first liquor store and bought a pint of muscatel. As soon as he got outside he took a drink, standing still long enough to experience it going down and through his body, knowing soon the drabness and ugliness would be tolerable. He put the bottle in his pocket and started walking toward the bus stop. Soon he would be back on the Bowery and he would find a nice deserted building to nest in and leisurely drink his wine, then softly talk and sing to himself and his coat.

He stood with the wind at his back, cuddled in the warmth of his coat, his entire being happy and glowing. He rubbed his cheek against the collar, its roughness reassuring him. They were together. They could take anything together… do anything together… survive anything together… He loved his coat… and his coat loved him… and they were together. That was the important thing. No one… nothing could separate them. And as long as they were together theyd make it. Yeah… theyd make it…

The bus came and he hopped aboard and Harry Wright headed home. He was warm… He was safe…