Black Hopsack Wool

The dog had the upper hand here. He was smartly dressed in a dinner suit and smoked a long cigarro - you were out of your league. It didn't help that the dealer was also a dog, a different breed, but a dog none the less. "Your call" he huskily said, looking at you over his horn rimmed glasses. Was he a beagle? Some sort of pointer? The dealer was a bulldog, also smartly dressed with a waistcoat, turniquets and a green plastic visor on his head. Either way you never should've entered the underground casino and most certainly never should've sat at a poker table of dogs. Poker was never your game and this chap was gonna clean you out. Fast forward six hours and indeed he drained you for every penny. "I'm out" you whimper "I got nothing left". "You sure?" he probed, "Y'know, that's a lovely suit you're wearing...". "Oh no, not my Beggars Run black hopsack tuxedo! Breathable and textured cloth with a soft lustre, woven up in Huddersfield. It wouldn't fit you anyway, as it was made exactly for MY body. You have FOUR legs!" you pleaded. "Look pal, you're into me 60 large, it's the suit or I take two fingers." Emerging from the den on to the wet heartless street, you console yourself that no one really needs their pinky fingers and in the reflection of a car window you smile. You still looked good.