Chapter 1I heard the story from 505, the Levi jeans, about how, exactly, he got that patch on his seat. It was summer 1994.
“Jesus, Harry, relax, will you? You look like you’ve got St. Vitus’s dance.” Wills Matheson, the owner and wearer of the 505s, limped into the ER. His cousin Harry, ashen-faced and a nervous wreck, followed right behind.
“But you’re bleeding, Wills! I can see it—” Harry’d been hovering over him since he’d realized the nail he’d shot from his nail gun had actually hit his cousin’s ass. “I’m sorry. I’m so f*****g sorry! I should have known you’d never flirt with my girl.”
Yes, he should have; 505 told me that Mathesons didn’t make passes at a family member’s girlfriend, but if Wills agreed with him, he’d feel even worse.
“It was an accident, Harry. I know that, and
