The fedora had sat untouched at that jaunty angle for months. Did it miss my head? Was it forlorn and feeling forgotten? Would it ever move again?
All of these thoughts would be rushing through its head, if it only had a head. But fedoras being fedoras, it needed someone else’s head to be complete.
I picked it up and settled it on my head.
Sure enough, it whispered, “You complete me.”
“I hear the voice of a fedora,” I said. “Yes, I have passed through the zippy door into insanity.”
Here, in this silly space, I am comforted to learn that insanity doesn’t make me dangerous — only detached from reality. As such, I am a perfect citizen, compliant and oblivious.
“Are you insane?!” an old friend cried. Why, yes, yes, I am. Just ask my fedora.
The insane, in fact, have conquered the world. That makes more sense than any other conspiracy theory.