The army green hat never saw her before. It was a small, innocent hat with a dent in the middle of the top. A slick silk piece of strand tied around its belly. Always tightened nice and sir'ly. He always had a fabric eye out for the soft pink ball cap that used to settle herself on the cashier counter of the store. Tucked in the back right corner of the store, where the wall decorations gave her a wonderful splendor, an exhilarating extra touch of beauty. Every aspect of the store suited her well, and he knew they would never make a Vogue magazine together. It would be either her in the summer edition or him in the Fall edition. Never would they be seen together. This brought him to a major disappointment, as if the purpose of his existence had been stolen out of his 30 dollar life. Slipped from his textured fabric, slippery like the silk of his belly. The inside of Mr. Army-hat felt so hollow now, no head would be able to fill it completely. One day a small, blond girl chose Miss Pink-hat. The army green hat just hung there, silent and motionless on his hat stand. Watched the pieces of paper with dollar signs replace the pink ball hat. The pink ball hat was put onto the blond, curly, swishy haired head of the small girl. Army green would never be the same shade of green again. It turned darker and weary from that moment onwards. After a few weeks even the faint smell of pinkness had blown away from the store. Mr. Army-hat was never to be army green ever again, he had faded and darkened to a mere feltgrau. Never to recover again.