BALLPARK CAMO CRAB

Late summer in The Yard. Sun stuck over the warehouse, crowd settling in, and that first crack off the bat that carries farther than it should.

Orange and black everywhere. Loud when it needs to be, quiet for half a second when the ball’s in the air. Beer in hand, eyes on the field, and no real interest in anything else.

It fits that kind of night. Nothing complicated. Just nine innings, a packed house, and a look that holds its own in the middle of it.

ADULT SHORT SLEEVE, PEPPER