Look at How Good Chris Pine Looks in a Mask

It’s a beautiful day in Los Angeles—not too warm, not too cool, and nary a trace of humidity in the air. Chris Pine is out and about, visiting a newsstand, perhaps to buy the latest issue of The New Yorker, or, because this is my fantasy and no one else’s, some vintage dirty magazines. He is wearing rust-red cargo shorts and a butter yellow, linen-button down, unbuttoned somewhere just north of his dick, allowing the lustrous hair on his chest to get some much-needed fresh air. The thighs deserve special consideration, as they are finely muscled, with some intriguing definition, indicating a quiet dedication to leg day that is much appreciated. His hair has been freshly highlighted and he has mastered the art of wearing a mask over a fetching salt and pepper beard.

Look to the good Chris as a paragon of public health best practices or as a man whose body is worth the effort to climb—or just look at him because you’re so sick of looking at yourself or the people you live with that if you could simply unzip your skin and crawl right out of it, you would. Take a good look at it. Look at it now. Not too shabby.