The lean, clean-shaven man with dark hair strips off his jeans, his bare feet pressing into the grass as he kneels in the sunlight, then squats low to grip the fabric tight before tossing it aside. His toes curl around the ground while he leans against the brick wall, the football still clutched in his hand, until he drops it too, his body shifting into a full spread on the earth. Every frame locks onto his feet, flexing and shifting as he moves from sitting to lying, the only sound the rustle of fabric and the scrape of skin on stone.
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