To spot a beautiful man. Oh the skill. Beautiful like eyes and lips but not like bed and breakfast and a good conversation. Not complex, bitter like that. There’s a place for this type of beauty I’m sure. You write about it then. But this is about fast- running water and sharp perfume. Beauty like desire. And oh, can I spot it. Spot him. Find him. Track him. Trace him with my eyes, the margins of his body and how he fills them. Where his shoulders go, how he pulls them back or how they hang. This is about desire, an intention in his body, the pulling back of those chunks of meat, the puffing of his chest, the arch of his chin, like a bull or a different animal, a peacock. A dog, I guess.

You might struggle to make this distinction between a man who thinks about his shoulders and a man who doesn’t. Between a beautiful man and an ugly one, I mean. Beautiful like he’s pulling the elastic between east and west on his back together. Do you have that image? Between east and west, between each big beautiful shoulder blade. Okay.