This piece is about a homeless man who desires a new whole pair of pants.
Looking up, Paul was meeting eyes with a Calvin Klein billboard model, a muscular jawline-centric man in bulgy underwear. Looking down, Paul’s filthy jeans had such a surplus of holes that it could not deter the icicle of a breeze to chillingly stroke his own ever-shrinking bulge, which was now crying vibrato in D minor. Life was just inequitable as he had an impressive supply of holes but absolutely no demand in wintertime, if it was summer he would surely be rich. Paul was to pretend that he had ‘the class’ to even wear such amazing capitalistic emergent bulge-amplifying property. As his heat-integrity system exposed its vulnerabilities once more (as a December gust passed by) he snapped into his “priorities”. The diminishing bulge was unsatisfactory but he tried to see the future in a positive light - like a carrot and/or dick on a stick if you will. The rudimentary “priorities” was to steal a pair of pants and a nice subsequent pair of bulgy underwear… Hmm, yes “priorities”. The park was the perfect place for a bum like Paul with the crow and squirrel acting as his gladiator spectators and the galvanizing billboard made his bulge clutch.
“I will follow you, bulge”, he thought and clenched. The spectators - the squirrel and crow - was also set to fabulously explode, the tension (in his crotch) was reaching the critical mass.
“You have no ideas how much I envy you, my spectators - you have no need for pants'', he telepathically communicated while imagining a brand of jeans designed for crows. The memory of class filled his gladiator spirit as he entered one of the rings. A pedestrian, aha! - surely a pretentious prick, with the pork pie hat and tiger stripe pants, he thought - but just about his own size. From the leafless bush Paul emerged with a modern dagger and the tiger stripe pants were within his laceration.