What some would call a modern day 
“How do you define a Dolce woman?”
As much as I appear purely Northern European, I’ve got enough Mediterranean blood in me to give me the kind of curves that ache for Italian design. (Though my feet prefer the French, go figure.)
I measure a man’s seriousness by the degree of moral ambivalence he is able to intimate in his appearance. Here is surface, the subtle politician and thinker says, here is my homage to gorgeousness, worldliness and good manners, but don’t suppose I do not have that within that passeth show.
Too much attention to exterior show and the man is trivial; too little and he is a fanatic. The person who cannot smile urbanely even when the world is falling apart is no better than the person who can do nothing else. And those who think they prove their integrity by looking shabby by the standards of their own society, or by adopting the dress of the oppressed (as though the oppressed are a model by virtue of their oppression), only demonstrate the narrowness of their sympathies.
Howard Jacobson: Get your tailoring right, and you can set out to solve the world’s problems
What they won't tell you in most reviews of the Hotel Vitale
From the in-room deep soaking tub, overlooking the waterfront on San Francisco, in a Hotel Vitale suite with 180 degree views. It’s almost like being in an infinity pool, but with the bay at the horizon. (Hotel Victor in South Beach has a rooftop pool that conveys the same illusion, but with the Atlantic Ocean. An ideal place to hide out for a few hours above the hustle of Ocean Drive.) The tub nicely fits two — even a better fit if one of you is encased in latex. The rain shower a few steps away makes peeling out of your attire that much smoother, and the wooden bench inside the shower area itself is sturdy enough to secure a companion to assist you in rinsing off.
A Gibson
1 1/2 oz dry gin
1/2 oz French vermouth
3 pearl onions
twist lemon peelCombine vermouth and gin. Shake well with cracked ice and strain into 3 ounce cocktail glass. Twist of lemon peel and serve with three pearl onions.
From the book: Old Mr Boston’s De Luxe Official Bartender’s Book compiled and edited by Leo Cotton (Ben Burke, Inc, 1941)
Georges Bataile, The Story of the Eye
What he gave me 
In the mirror, in the divey hotel I stole him away to for the thrill of being contrary: I let him slide his hand from base to tip.
When you disappeared
The last time I saw you, it was your reflection: the city spread out behind you from forty floors up, shining through the image of your skin, glistening. Bleak. I nearly forgot my scarf, graphic black and white, that held your eyes tightly shut. I told you my job is truly half to be a spy, and half to be a detective. I crept out of your room after having handed you the worst decision: you could let me have my way with you as thoroughly as I craved with no promise of release, or you could crumple at my feet, still enclosed in black leather straps, and offer yourself, spattering sweat and your own fluids into your palm. You were wise and chose torment, and you trembled as you took it, and you were smiling as I slipped back into my coat.
