the Indigo Cowboy Jeans…

The road, cracked, sunburnt, a thread through the wild west.  
Wind thick with dust and sage. Freedom—the burn of the sun, the bite of the wind, the silence that means something.
Japan drifts through my mind—Okayama, where denim is more than fabric, where looms hum like prayers, where indigo stains like time, obsessed, relentless. No shortcuts. No compromise.
Built for this road, for men who ride, who chase the horizon with no need for a destination.
The memory fades. The West is here, now...

- josh