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My PVC trews.
O PVC trews, once you were sleek and shiny, and thus Cool. Now you are laddered and unwearable. You cling on, begging for a touch of gaffer-tape, a smidge of acrylic, saying "just patch me up! I'll be okay!"
Poor PVC trews. I loved you once, but I am a fickle Mordant. I betray you with less than a moment's thought.
I hate to confess it but I am almost thrilled to cannibalise my former favourites into patches and accessories.
"Noooo! Do not cut me up for patches! Wait! Waiiiiiit!"
In vain they protest. I advance, scissors at the ready. |
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