Roar

I was all set to write about Restaurant Week and what an unrefined palate I have, when my vision was assualted on the metro ride in, and my mind began one-tracking it to hell. I wasn't looking for trouble. I was innocently holding onto the nearest handrail, waiting for the train to roll into McPherson Square when I noticed it...attached to him. I'm notorious for checking people out, and when I glanced up at him, I automatically hit certain target areas. Eyes. Hair. Hands. Bulge. Sigh. I honestly didn't mean to go there, but my eyes betrayed my better senses by lingering over the way he filled out his J. Crew khakis. This couldn't be blamed on tight pants or some secret excitement he was having trouble hiding. Vulgarity wasn't even an issue. It was tastefully clothed with only lines and shadows raving about what was underneath. I could tell it would be beautiful and couldn't tear my eyes away.