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I noticed them while I waited for a leisurely float down the lazy river.

The dad, graying at the temples, was thin and fit and still boyishly handsome at 40-something.

The images of beauty here, and sex, too, are so varied that I can’t help but feel my brain start to rewire.

Seeing row upon row of true variety, all through the lens of desirability, pushes me to expand beyond the very narrow, very specific wedge of humanity I’ve been taught is worthy.

Not a parka, or peacoat, or a ragged but endearing arrangement of flannel and wool, an actual overcoat.