I am angry at a man. He wears jeans with rips in them, stylish of course. His shirts have their sleeves torn off. They're worn thin, the cotton stretched. The emblems and pictures on the front are broken apart from many cycles in the washer. He walks unlike any other- a swagger. Hips move, entire body moves- it reeks of sex. He says, I am here. Now, come to me. And some fall into this walk, they try to walk next to him- but none can keep up with this gait. They fall back with an odd gaited walk about them. I am angry at a man who puts on a show. I look at him from a store front and seeth silently. I will not speak to him.
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