wr_post03:subj_fict

MASON-DIXON DRAWSTRING SLACKS

driving down the road one afternoon, paul saw a pair of slacks laying in the ditch. he slowed down, pulled over and made his way cautiously down the embankment. the shale was loose and it was slow going. as he reached the pants he saw that there was also a note in a little glass mason jar. he opened the jar and gingerly plucked out the note. it was beautiful paper. smooth, but aged almost to the consistency of lace. the ink had faded and the edges were dirty from many fingers running across its surface. he could only make out the second and the last lines:

"gave it to me tuesday with the intention of making a pie....or else never got home on account of the rain."

it wasn't clear just what the note had to do with the pants, if there was any connection at all, but he decided to take both. as he dropped the pants into the lockbox in the bed of the truck, he began to feel an odd sensation. an urge to wear the pants. the waistband had a drawstring. these pants would give a little in the wearing, a luxury he was not often afforded by his wife's stingy hemming. he made sure there were no other cars on the road and quickly slipped off his pants, but as he reached to grab the drawstring slacks he heard a voice.
"boy, just what do you think you're doing?"
albert's [his name changes?] face grew bright red. he was literally caught with his pants down. he turned slowly to address the voice, but there was no one there. a chill came over him. forgetting his own pants he jumped into the truck and drove off, shooting gravel as he pulled up off the shoulder. he didn't let his foot off the gas even in the slightest until he was in sight of his house. he ran up the front step, having forgotten all about his pantslessness and into the arms of his wife. there he wept for several hours, unable to catch his breath to retell the awful tale. she comforted him and offered him some pie.
"it's rhubarb," she said. "don, brought it over. i gave his wife some rhubarbs the other day in exchange for a cup of flour. i do hope he makes it home alright, it looks like rain outside."
"w-w-what kind of pants was he wearing?" stammered paul.
"i dunno," his wife replied as she moved into the kitchen to cut the pie. "i think they were just some drawstring slacks."