His Fishing Cap.
He possibly bought his in a gas station on the road to Delaware Bay, next to the cash register, among the beef jerky wrapped in cellophane. Or maybe in a tackle shop in Key West.
I had to go to some trouble to have this one made for you and me, but it had to be done. The long bill, longer than I, at least, ever saw before, makes sense.
Fishing Cap (No. 1537). The visor: calfskin, soft and glareless and unaffected by repeated rain squalls. The color: same as strong scalding espresso, lemon peel on the side, somewhere in the mountains in the north of Italy. Ten-ounce cotton duck canvas. Six brass grommets for ventilation. Elastic at back to keep this treasure from blowing off your head and into the trees. Imported.