There’s a new threat in town: The Puffy Coat Mafia. The gang of three, of which I am a member, roams the streets three abreast dressed in menacing black puffy coats slick as licorice. Our manifesto: encroach on the space of others at every opportunity; target coat racks, the subway. Allow folded, inflated arms to drift into neighboring laps or read, elbows akimbo, as if you don’t notice you have doubled in size. We are the gangsters of girth, hitwomen of the hood. We live by the code. Family. Honor. Puffiness.
Poke us though, and we deflate.
This New Yorker cartoonist gets it.