In the fabric store, I run my fingers over the selections. The bolts of fabric sitting upright on the shelf are scrutinized only by my fingertips. The texture of each bolt becomes the sole reason I will decide to pull it from the wall. The softness of a particular fabric grabs my attention. I unroll a little from the bolt. I let the fabric drape over my forearm. This piece is quite soft. It is almost fuzzy in a way. I like it so much I hold the piece up to my cheek and turn my head to snuggle the buttery knit. The decision has been made.