Here's a contender for the city's most forlorn lost glove, spotted on the flat of the Hill:
I've made it this far into winter without losing a hat or a glove, as I tend to do every year. I've come close, though: dropped my favorite hat on the floor in a shop on Newbury Street, and then left it behind at an animal shelter. Both times I quickly discovered my loss via my freezing-cold ears. I dropped a glove at the gym last week; they kept it for me. I've also left my boots there two or three times, realized it soon after heading home, and paid the price of having to hobble back down their steep staircase and then wobble back up again, an extra workout for my trembling, exhausted carcass.
I'm kind of neurotic about storing my gloves inside my hat, and stuffing it into my bag or pocket, but eventually I'm going to forget. I'm absent-minded. The hat will be forgotten on my lap as I stand to get off a bus or trolley at my stop — and goodbye, winter warmth, one more time. Hello, fruitless search for a similar hat and gloves.
I'm sure this wayward glove, with its pretty pastels and sparkly rhinestones, broke some little person's heart last week. I had to sympathize.