It was how I walked. Or dropped into sofas and chairs. How I sat. Knees apart, leaning forward. I liked to pivot on the balls of my feet swinging my heels out which made my hips sway. I did this if I was going up stairs. If there were people at the bottom to watch. It was funny, and you had to be good at it to do it well. It all felt good, how I moved. I flopped my arms over the backs of couches. I wasn’t jonking my shoulders like guys do, or standing with one foot higher than the other. I was just childish. That fella was a striker for his rugby team, and as a child had a club foot repaired— so gait mattered to him. “Your cocky walk,” he said. Why he liked me.