This time round, in the constituency of Wyre Forest, just to the south-west of Birmingham, it is a man in a white coat.
There was a measure to the man in the hooded coat, old stooped body, face framed in monkish cloth, a history, a faded drama.
Kids play on the streets, a woman in a fur coat walks her dog, a man repairs a car, punks and travellers gather on a street corner.
It involves a thin Asian man in a shabby coat, standing by a gate in the snow of eastern Russia, wearing sneakers with no laces or socks.
Named after the Aesop fable in which the sun persuades a man to take off his coat after the North Wind fails to do so, the policy sought to engage the North.
One man came in, put his coat over his head, dragged a few chairs together and went to sleep, she recalled.
The man bent, found a wallet in his coat, took out a folded sheet of paper, offered it.
As the boats pull up to the dock, an Asian man wearing a yellow-and-white rain coat crouches on a knoll, staring out at the boats.
His dad glanced around, then handed the man an envelope, which was quickly shoved into a coat pocket.
In the calamitous conclusion, she disguises herself in a trench coat and hat, allowing herself to be killed by the hit man her father hired to murder the Duke.
This was why the man had been born, to end up in this town wearing that coat.
Her offerings include a plum-colored halter dress covered in satin flowers, a more tailored dress in black wool with more sharply cut flowers, and a white sheer man-tailored shirt paired with black evening shorts and a full-cut long black coat.
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