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In Defense of Nudity

The street below my temporary apartment was overflowing with laughter, bicycles and nudity. Seventeen floors up, I could just make out rampant swathes of body paint, scattered boas, and lots and lots and lots of doughy, pasty flesh. As the last bits of sunlight were ushered away by the warm Lake Michigan breeze, I regretted not purchasing a telephoto lens. What was going on?

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