There she was, crossing safely in the pedestrian walk. While I sat, idling in my conservative car, I found little to do, except to watch this woman make her way slowly to the curb, leaving her car a few houses up.
She was someone no one could ignore, including a car beside me.
Wearing stiletto shoes, glossy black with red soles and heels, she understood how to wear these shoes. She strutted, proudly so. Legs were white--almost un-naturally white—and they were long and lean.
Legs led up to short black skirt, so short that her butt cheeks peeked out below. They were white, skin was white even there. And she wore a clinging red sweater outlining full breasts. No fat hung off her, a black patent leather belt cinched an already tiny waist.
Her face, oh that face. It was white, so white, with blood red lipstick spread on heavily on full thick lips. That was when she turned her head to gaze defiantly at me and other moms watching from their cars.
She tossed black glossy hair, teased high and out. Midnight black eye shadow with massacre framed pale blue eyes.
Carrying a metal storage clipboard, she glanced down at a paper, then at the street sign. Finally, she reached the sidewalk, and strode down into a residential area, walking past family homes.
We all drove on, heading to pick up our school children. Catching each other’s eyes, we realized what we had seen: a street walker, walking down the street.
She had an appointment to keep.