Smoldering Pants

I could see Evan walking down the street well before he reached my house. He was one of the last people I would have expected to get suckered into the fad, but there it was. Evan was wearing a pair of smoldering pants; the soft glow of the embers illuminated his legs in the evening twilight.

"Dude, seriously?" I said, once he was within earshot.

"Hey, at first I didn't think they'd be all that comfortable, since they're made with a woven wool / kevlar combination. But the fabric isn't nearly as stiff as you would imagine, and the effect is kinda nice," he said, putting his hands into the smoldering pockets.

"That doesn't change the fact that your pants are on fire!" I replied.

"Yeah," said Evan, "I'll admit the heat takes a bit to get used to, but the fire is what makes these pants awesome! I mean, the warranty lasts for six months, so..."

"Fi-re!" I repeated, stressing both syllables.

"Well, okay, yes," he replied, rolling his eyes. "But if you follow proper leg moistening procedures, and you wear the recommended protective underwear, the chances for third degree burns are surprisingly small. And it's better if you don't buy the knockoff labels. Abercombustable and Flint includes a free E.R. visit with each purchase."

"You bought a pair of pants that comes with a medical voucher!?"

"Dude, you just don't get fashion," said Evan, distracted by his shirt. The bottom hem of his polo had caught fire, and was starting to smoke. He recited random bits of peer pressure back at me, before ultimately having to stop, drop, and roll on the sidewalk to prevent his shirt from going up in flames.

I couldn't help but laugh to see him standing there. He looked like an idiot standing there, glases askew, in his disheveled and charred shirt, trying to look cool in his smoldering pants despite the giant honking rubber boots. "Whatever, dude," I said, shaking my head. "Let's just go."