Pants and a sock.
Pants that didn't appear to be poop-soiled.
Pants that didn't even appear to be old or much worn.
Not hobo pants.
Just black jean pants.
Right smack in downtown Dallas, not a side street or culvert.
Where people perambulate, not where they sleep on benches or burn barrel fires.
Non-hobo pants, near a cathedral, seen shortly after Chinese New Year.
Crumpled waist down, as if Clark Kent had lost weight, making their fit too loose, and they slipped free of his waist as he raised his arms to the sky, and Super-flew into the blue, a freak gale or greedy grackle snatching a souvenir sock from one foot.