Requiem

The jeans are dead.

On the way home after getting a drink at a local bar tonight, I slipped. I was stone cold sober and a block and a half away from my front door. I had slipped in these shoes before. In fact, I was wearing the same pair of jeans. But this time, I almost performed a split. As I began to collect myself, I noticed a huge rip at the right knee of the jeans. Maybe I could have lived with that. But the crotch had also experienced a tear that could not be fixed. As I further assessed the damage, I realized that I had also torn through the tights I had put on underneath my jeans to keep out the cold. And to make matters worse, I had lost a good amount of skin to the pavement. I sat on the ground for two minutes. As I limped home, I reconciled myself with the end.

After I entered my apartment and turned on the light, I stripped them off for the final time. The inside was stained with the blood that had poured from my knee. I left them on the floor and made my way to the bathroom to tend to my wound.

Now to find a new pair to break in and make my own.