The men of Robinsons'

Allow me the luxury of a cruel generalization.

The men, that shop at Robinsons', do not dress well.

I was there last night, between 7 to 8. A friend, no a brother, was trying his sub-$40 pants and here I was sitting between pants and winterwear, looking at nothing but men.

Staring at their chests and buttocks.

Gazing at their loose pants, faded fabrics and their dull colors.

And letting their abysmal drapery stare back at me.

We dress alike, the men of Robinsons'.