I bought him for my tailoring business, but Atlas had a presence that a wooden coat rack lacked. In the dim light of the sewing room, he looked less like a tool and more like a silent roommate waiting for an explanation.

I stopped fighting the fabric and let it drape the way Atlas seemed to want it. The sleeve fell perfectly.

Now, I don't work on him; I work with him. Sometimes, when the house is quiet and the pins are tucked away, I catch myself thanking him. He never answers, of course, but the way he holds a suit tells me everything I need to know.