My haberdashery is infect with moths. They

My haberdashery is infect with moths. They scream

my eternal torment with whispering voices. Dark is my haberdashery, and dreary, and cold. Within the horrifying vastness of time, I cower in the back room. The moths portend

days of lamentation amongst the soft furnishings. O Great Haberdasher, tell me how to sew a seamless fold in the fabric we call life whose warp & weft weave dreamless through time

unending. Teach me the secret to the perfect angle at which the fedora meets the great cranium in the sky. I shall serve thy greatness, O Great Haberdasher, until the end of

time! I shall kneel before thy glorious Haberdashery and make thee sacrifices with my seam ripper. I shall serve and obey you- only teach me how to sew a sexy, well-tailored suit

and please include room & board and professional upkeep. I have a preference for Sunday for my day off but I'm flexible on that point. I expect OSHA compliant working conditions.

Plus, a monthly increase in salary, due to cost of living. Also: I require absolute silence between the hours of 9pm and 9am, so I can write my tangents. And I prefer neutral decor

with a window that's soundproofed to human voices when it's open, but lets through the petrichor, the faraway trains, and the lonely howls of wolves. I must gaze down upon treetops

the tranquility could not keep me here. I needed to wonder the desolate streets embracing the sounds of the night. I got dressed and left the room for the city.

I stepped onto the cobblestone, heels and head high. At last, I can finally embrace my dreams.