Dry Heat

A navy camp collar hanging open over a ribbed white tank, because layers are a state of mind, not a temperature decision. Washed carpenter shorts with a Levi's buckle doing the talking, white crews pulled high, Tokutens with a gum sole that grips hot pavement like it was engineered for exactly this. The Von Dutch sits low. The amber lenses stay on indoors. He smells like High Desert, carries a green leather wallet he refuses to explain, and sweats exactly once a year, by choice.