khaki

In college I was skipped for an intramural team because a girl reviewing the candidates found a photo of me online, slumping in huge khakis.

The men, wearing khakis, navy blue shirts and white gaiters concealing their faces, marched down Main Street toward the beach holding a picture of Kirk.

They were medium-handsome, in their 70s, and dressed dapperly in khaki slacks and navy sport coats bearing name tags that identified them as Bill and Frank.

He was wearing a black hoodie with a zip, khaki trousers and Nike trainers, and the black balaclava.

Wearing a crisp outfit of brown khakis, an Ecuador soccer jersey, Harold Lloyd-style glasses and a 1988 Dodgers World Series championship ring that was simultaneously brilliant yet understated, he greeted them all by name.