General

He wore his jean jacket with a cigarette between his teeth; he was the type of guy you'd fall in love with, no matter how many beer bottles in his system, and no matter how many other jean jacket, aching, lonely hearts wonder around him. His charisma was embedded on his gorgeous facial features- green eyes and all- and when his lips curved up, they formed two small dimples sitting upon his cheeks. My, oh my, even his jean jacket carried his smell, and I just sat there for ages, with it embraced in my hands, wondering what to do with myself.

By vikivalentine, June 6, 2014.
General

The jean jacket slumped on the chair had to be Marco's. It was faded blue like every other teenage boy's but down the front were black oil stains and the cuffs were an altogether different color from brushing up agains the engine as he worked.

By sylviemoore5, October 18, 2014.
General

The jean jacket was designer all the way, even down to the faux-distressed look of the fabric. It was faded and ripped, but perfectly so, and made all the more obvious by the new perfect stitching in rusty coloured thread. But it wasn't his. No way. He had the right pose but his confidence was unearned - an attitude born of his perceived social status. He was a copy-cat mobster wannabe. The jacket was simply too wide on the shoulder, too roomy on the chest. I turned to Trev and winked, he knew exactly what I meant. This chump was trying to ride on the coat-tails of his older brother and this town doesn't work that way; earn your own wings buy a north bound train ticket...