I went to kick the hacky sac and heard it. That sound that I dreaded for so long finally found it’s voice.
In that carpetless room, with cream colored tile walls, the voice echoed ringing in my ears over and over, fading like an evil laugh, as the villain walked away from the helpless hero.
“Shit! Man, these are my favorite pants!”
I had to hold a funeral for my favorite pants today, only weeks after I spent hours scrubbing and soaking them to remove the blood stains from my misadventures in Paris. Little more than a month after my mother fixed the small holes at the corners of the back pockets. Five years after I rescued the last pair from the $15 bargain rack at Gadzooks. After countless nights of clubbing and raving till the early morning. My favorite pants have sustained a mortal wound. A gapping hole six inches in length, running down the side of the seam. A wound from which they cannot be rescued, as I lay them to rest I can only hope that I may find their equal someday, though I know that there can never be a replacement. Good bye my friend, my faithful Kik Wear strait leg, button fly, style #710220, cut #7180, I will miss you, you where a true friend, there for me through countless days and nights, you met your end in service, and you will be remembered as a true companion.