The sweater was simple. Good. Woven from cotton and polyester, it held a quiet warmth. Not loud. Not boastful. Just there. Like a fire that burns low and steady through the night.
It fit well. Classic. The crew neckline sat clean against the throat. No fuss. No frills. The kind of fit a man could wear and forget. A man could move in it. Work in it. Sit silent beneath the sky and think.
The stitching was double-needled. Strong. Unyielding. It would last. Through cold mornings and long nights. Through the years. The fabric held firm, steady as stone, but there was softness too. A kindness in the cotton, drawn from American soil. Honest earth. Honest work.
To wear this sweater was to know warmth. To know quiet. To know something made well, and made to last.
