These are not my shorts.
My cargoes were soft with pockets that had stretched to accommodate the tools of my life. I have had great adventures wearing those shorts. They were tattered and torn just this side of indecent but I did not care. They were favorite. I felt confident of my ability to get things done in those shorts.
When my wife said they had to go, I hid them away in a safe (an actual safe-no joke) and wore them when comfort was of the utmost importance. The last time I saw those cargoes they came out of the laundry in pieces. My wife denies she had anything to do with their demise but I know she hated them.
I had great adventures wearing those shorts. We hiked, biked and did yard work I may even have worn them to a wedding. We traveled to places near and far. Maybe what I liked about
those old cargoes was the journey. Hmm . . . . these might be my shorts.