Hat
He wore a hat, the man in the store. It was perfect enough for an angel, dark enough for a demon. He wasn't me, he wasn't you either. He wasn't really anyone because he had no name. He had no name, because nobody named him. Who would name him? He had no parents, he was never born. He couldn't die because he never lived. He had never talked, he had no voice, of course. But he did have a hat. He always had a hat, it was who he was. He handed me his envelope; that was his job. Inside of the envelope was a small note, "Have a nice day.", it read. And my day was nice, but it was my last. Because to anyone who thinks Death wears a robe; you're wrong, it's a hat.
:D
