Carlo Masi stands shirtless against a rusted fence, his beard thick and his chest covered in ink, gripping the wood as he leans forward with the weight of his muscles. The outdoor light catches the sweat on his hairy arms as he shifts between squatting on a weathered plank and sitting with his hands on his hips, every pose sharp and deliberate. His tattoos stretch across his shoulders and down his back, visible even when he turns to rest his palms on his head. The wooden barriers frame him like a cage, but he owns the space, every flex, every breath.
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