You know in movies and novels where the heat and humidity become almost a character in and of themselves? I always imagine if I lived in a Graham Greene novel I’d wear shirts like these Post O'Alls short sleeves. Half-plackets are my weakness and insano patterns are always welcomed into my home. The ironic thing is that I hate the heat and humidity. I sweat a lot. THERE, I SAID IT (AGAIN). That shit would probably doom my fate as a spy in Indochina because some goods would be like, “Are you a spy?” I’d say, “No,” but I’d be sweating bullets and they’d deliver some clever antagonist line that isn't so clever like, “Well, then why ya sweatin', buddy?” I’d be too chickenshit to swallow the cyanide pill my handler gave to me, so I’d try to shoot my way out and die semi-tragically as an unknown spy in French Indochina. These are the thoughts that go through my head looking at shirts. IMAGINE WHEN I READ A BOOK OR GO OUT IN PUBLIC.
