He came here to be model.
That plastic hair, that perfect scruff.

He came here to showcase polo shirts
and boxer briefs in staged scenes
of friends at the beach or a
rooftop barbecue.

he is only wearing sweat pants and
a blue graphic tee as we ride the
1, south towards the West Village.

But maybe this is staged as well,
and tomorrow's billboard will be
this same scene: gray sweatpants,
incomparable ennui, the orange seats
of this dirty subway, and an older Chinese woman,
her eyes closed, her hands folded.

Human accessories.

Critics will marvel, how her quiet defeat
brings out his eyes.