In <2-!nahj...@netcom.com> j...@netcom.com (Jack Hamilton) writes:
I remember a discussion we had once, in a gas station, about blueMy only pair of blue jeans; there's a mixture of loving remembrance and
jeans.
pain to wear. The last time I was in California, Rob had extended his extraordinary hospitality, and had offered to take myself and another
motsser visiting -- it was Interop '90, in the fall -- from the UK out to supper, then to a bar.
"You'll have to wear jeans," he said. I didn't own a pair of jeans.
"Umm- OK, I can buy a pair after the show today. What kind?"
"Levi 501s." No problem. I went to the giant jean store on Church
St and bought a pair that felt wonderful and (I thought) looked *great.*
I met Rob later at the restaurant.
"What do you think of the jeans? Perfect, eh?"
"Nope. Wrong colour."
I had bought the light blue, soft prewashed jeans to go to the C&W bar.
I think of Rob every time I put 'em on.
--
Daniel MacKay dan...@nstn.ns.ca
Homo habilis
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