On the corner of Eddy and Polk there is a slow, shuffling man without pants. More accurately, this man has decided to pull down his pants and underwear until they are just below his bare bum. This makes it difficult to walk, but he inches along, drawing barely a glance from those around him. Who would begrudge him a little air?
San Francisco tolerance combined with the temperate clime is apparently a recipe for men without pants. I’ve seen scores in the past few years, and it continues to crack me up. Somehow, I’ve never been moved to take off my own pants and walk around. Maybe I need to loosen up.