and for some reason, I did. the salma & sabina, the fantasy of being a true cowboy, the feel of a rough denim/poly blend in sage green, riding up me, lifting, separating, spreading, pushing. A lot of pressure is a pair of pants. The length is good, the waist is certainly good enough... after a series of 27 pushups for 27 days I will be indeed the leftover cowboy I've always wanted. I've taken to wearing a kerchief at all times, as a neckwarmer, rag, snotkeeper, hidingplace, and fashion accessory. Even while I sleep it stays. And where is the brassiere? the razor? When did I go back to transform into a version of me but thirty, forty years ago? Today, or last night, or a week ago, even...
