It's a tank top. I don't know what you want from me. It's from Head's Spirit line, it's sleeveless, it's light, and the knit is the wicking kind, so when you sweat it moves the sweat off you instead of just sitting there being damp, which is genuinely the only thing a summer tennis shirt has to do. There. That's the shirt.
Okay, fine, one more thing, because it does actually matter. Light is the whole point. This one has the wishbone on it and nothing else going on, no zips, no padding, no built-in anything you have to think about, which — whatever — is better than the ones covered in seams that dig in.
Anything heavier on a court in July is a mistake and you'll know it by the second changeover.
It's the shirt you grab without looking, and honestly? That's the highest compliment I give clothes.
Anyway. Trnava. So it's got, like, an absurd number of churches for how small it is, which is why people call it Little Rome, and I only know that because — never mind.
St Nicholas's is Gothic and twin-towered and everyone stops there.
The cathedral of St John the Baptist is the Baroque one that basically kicked off the whole competitive church-building thing, because once one order builds a big one, everyone has to. You'd wear this everywhere from a nine a.m.
clinic you didn't want to get up for to a long doubles thing on a Saturday, and it is also perfect for sitting outside on the main square afterwards with something cold, which is what everyone in Trnava does anyway. I mean. It's fine.
The shirt you don't think about is the shirt you wear the most.
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