Low dipped tank tops. Enough to reveal full, swollen cleavage. Wonderful. Beautiful. Something to illustrate just how necessary, essential, human, pleasing and overwhelmingly precious summer months are. Enough to frame them and hold them up as the reason a man enjoys being a man.
Breasts. In your face, just beneath the smile of a beautiful girl.
It's so very primal, the whole attraction piece of the puzzle- man vs. woman because the dance is legitimate. It's been going on for thousands of years. Millions, actually if you looked at it true with sloped foreheads and gray area between Neanderthals and modern man. And never mind living things in general or the dance spreads back billions of years - back to the day when 1-celled organisms split in half again and again with the primitive thought of propagating the species, although ultimately just programmed to continue a line of DNA.
Yeah. Gonna pay my bill.
- written after work while sitting at a sports bar in Plainville, MA. If I remember correctly, there was a pretty brunette behind the bar who kept coming over to talk and every time she leaned down on the bar - BAM! - those beauties were right there. Just wonderful.
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The final year of my 30's.
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