I'm apparently writing short pieces about the adventures of blue jeans. I don't know how I feel about this yet, but at least I wrote something. I am worried by the fact that this idea came from John, and that's where my inspiration came from, but I will take the muse in whatever form I can.
Catalina
These jeans are not stained with the blood of baby seals. They were not worn by Catalina or any of her other wildlife activist friends as they lay in Barcelona's Plaza de Catalunya, in front of the Canadian consulate, protesting animal slaughter. They were not the only defense against the sticks that men repeatedly raised and lowered, splitting wood against Catalina’s long, lean legs. They did not absorb her blood as the Seal Saviors reenacted the cruelty done to baby seals every year along the Canadian coast.
These jeans were not worn when sushi feel from Catalina’s mouth into her lap, leaving a stain of soy sauce above her knee. These jeans did not hear the waiter tell her that she had just eaten the baby seals she had fought so hard to save. Or his laugh when he said it was actually whale. Or his apology when he finally admitted it was the very legal and not at all cruel spicy tuna that she had ordered.
These jeans were not torn and then patched after Catalina feel along the seaside. They were not caught in a wire when she first spotted the baby seal sitting on the rock. They did not soak up the sea water as she pulled her camera from her backpack, excited to capture the perfect spots on his miniature head. These jeans were not torn as her foot slipped above the algae as she wound up and pitched a rock in the direction of a sailor obviously intent on harming the innocent creature.
These jeans are not stained with the blood of baby seals.
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