A Raglan Tee and Jeans Held Together by Habit

The jeans have been worn past the point of repair and kept anyway — open rips at both knees and the thigh, the hems frayed flat under the heel, the whole leg cut wide enough that the damage moves when he does.

The raglan is the opposite: clean, white body, black sleeves, a gothic-script band name set inside a printed border. It is the one crisp thing in the frame.

Everything else is hardware and habit. A chain hanging from the belt, stacked leather wristbands, a camo duffel bag that has clearly been carried a lot, headphone cable running down the front.

The light has gone flat and blue at this end of the day, which suits the outfit better than midday would have. He is walking at the camera down a narrow aisle between stalls, and the stall on the left is hung with more of the same kind of thing.