I 💙 Rhode Island, and the blue is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. Not red hot passion blue. More like bay water in March blue. The blue of sitting in bridge traffic for forty minutes in a state you can drive across in forty minutes. The blue of ordering a cabinet somewhere else and getting a confused stare.
It is love, though. Deeply weird, salt crusted, quahog chucking love. You give directions based on buildings that got torn down a decade ago. You consider coffee flavored milk a legitimate beverage. You believe fried dough is a food group and the word bubbler is correct. Nobody outside this tiny blue rectangle understands, and honestly, good. Let them stay confused.
Soft, broken in feel from the first wear, with a roomy fit that holds up to beach parking lots, chowder spills, and seventeen straight days of gray drizzle. Stitching that survives the wash, color that does not quit, and comfort that makes it the thing you grab without thinking.
