hwango

Mr. Slate awakened disoriented and uncertain. What was happening? Where was he? With eyes still blurry from sleep he inspected his surroundings, and learned little from them. The room in which he lay was curiously devoid of furnishing – in fact, Mr. Slate would go so far as to say that the place looked somehow unfinished. The only noteworthy feature of the room was a simple row of hooks by the door, on which hung a pair of hats. Ah, yes – the door. He was to go outside. But obviously, before going outside, he should put on his hat.

He rose to his feet and took a few unsteady steps towards the door. Leaning against the wall for support, he considered the hats.

The first hat was a dusty brown fedora. In was covered with tiny pits and scratches and speckled with a few tiny burns. There was a small piece of the brim missing in a shape that suggested something had taken a bite from it. It radiated a sense of adventure and excitement.

The second hat was a bowler hat of a type that a gentlemen might wear. In sharp contrast to the fedora it was immaculately clean and clearly well cared-for. A faintly floral scent lingered about it, but it was no flower Mr. Slate could identify. This hat exuded a sense of refinement edged with a faintly alien quality he could not quite name.

Mr. Slate stood leaning against the wall for some time before finally selecting a hat, placing it on his head, and stepping through the door.

Which hat did Mr. Slate choose?

The Fedora

The Bowler Hat

[Yes, really - click on one of them]