Seventh inning stretch, and some guy has taken off his shirt and dances in the aisle, his flab shifting beneath his leathery skin like a couch from the 70's come to life. His jean shorts have ridden down, and the crack of his narrow, bony ass peeps out demurely just over the top of his brown leather belt as he gyrates.
Katie does a slow take to me as everyone else does their best to look anywhere but at this guy. There's no metaphor, no larger lesson - just a middle aged guy dancing with his shirt off to some hair band while the Yankees pause in their shellacking of the Toronto Blue Jays on a mild evening in May.
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