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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.
