Zodlbayka 20042, how you talked to me, talking for everyone. “We girls don’t like half-naked men, give a costume.” AARRRCH!
I probably am not a girl. I live in a seaside resort town, I am pleased to look at weak muscular guys (from purely aesthetic interest), and a man in a suit, though expensive, though cheap, in the heat near the beach causes only confusion and the desire to twist his finger at the whisky. But no, fucking, all in costumes, or jeans with shirts, as you dare even think of putting on simple shorts to the knee and a fighting jacket in thirty-degree heat.
I wish you, the author of the story, the most critical and sociable grandmothers in the world at the entrance. That as soon as you have a shirt shorter than your ankle, the whole city already knew with what area you are sleeping today, in what poses and at what prices.