Photograph by Meiko Arquillos
In all my years on this planet, there’s nothing I have come to
appreciate quite so much as a good pair of pants. It seems
like such a simple thing, but it really isn’t. Owing to my boy-
ish nature and mechanical endeavors, my pants are probably the
most abused piece of clothing I own, more so even than my shoes.
My pants protect me from the sun, lacerations, and embarrass-
ment; they function as luggage for all sorts of oddly shaped sharp
objects; and the hips and legs are used as a hand cleaner from
time to time. All this, and they have to fit well and look good, too.
Now, I’m not rich, so the closest I can come to shopping in
boutiques and work-wear stores is sitting across the street quietly
crushing the heads of their patrons between my fingers.
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