Today I had a date at 5:00pm to see David. He is the most popular guy in Florence and it is best to pay extra to make an appointment to see him, otherwise one risks standing for hours in line.
David looked just like his photograph - tall, statuesque, and still with an innocent look on his smoothly chiseled face, even after centuries of being stared at, drawn and photographed. He didn't seem at all disgusted by the fact that parasitic vendors sell boxer shorts and aprons emblazoned with images of his genitalia, sexualizing a work of art that is so much more. (by the way, if any readers of this blog would like such a souvenir, please e-mail me by Sunday morning, specifying apron or boxers, so I can get you one).
Perhaps he was a bit tired from having killed Goliath so long ago. Rather than making eye contact, he gazed off into the distance with a fixed stare.
Walking around him, I admired his hands (particularly the right one, with exquisitely crafted veins) and his shapely derriere. Within minutes, my date was over.
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