corduroys

As a young lad growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area town of Pittsburg, my school uniform consisted of corduroys the color of Ash Wednesday, a white dress shirt and a maroon V-neck sweater.

Dressed in pink corduroys, a black hoodie and white sneakers, he was charming and sweet, jokey one second and quietly reflective the next.

Noble-Ward wore a plaid dress but coveted the jeans and corduroys permitted to boys.

Vicuña looked out of place on the Grand Canal: homespun and spirited, in faded brown corduroys, pink leg warmers and a long black and silver braid tied off with red thread.

“I don’t think this is gonna work,” she said, sitting back up and wiping her hands across her corduroys.