The guys in London have no asses.
Even if they did, the tight legged, baggy bottomed pants trend that they have come to embrace makes it impossible to tell. Not that I’m particularly interested, but these are the kinds of things you notice when you’re power walking the streets of the city.
It was a good walk, too. London has been beautiful the past couple days, gray as always but close to 50 degrees and breezy. It was the kind of walk that the High Street with their Porsches and shopping bags don’t appreciate at 12:30 in the afternoon, full of zigzags and close calls and long strides. It was the kind of walk you feel up the tops of your feet and over your ankles, the kind that builds and builds and sizzles for a jog until you’ve finally reached the gate of Kensington Gardens and you can give in. It was the kind of walk fueled by Enrique, the kind with hip swivels and the occasional finger snap and a strong and heavy beat. It was a good walk, to be certain.