Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Writer and the Street Walker

I'm not sure when I started noticing this woman walking her dogs. My early morning commute is both cold and dark, but every morning, there she is in a very sexy nightie, knee-high hose, heels, tiny top and no coat. The fact that it was nearly 40 degrees in the morning and she didn't have a coat, drew my attention.

Actually, a lot of things drew my attention.

Like how her super curly hair, pinned high and bouncing with her steps, looked red under the streetlamps. Like her choice of canine friendship, two fun loving dog breeds; a husky and a gold retriever. How she looked almost a hint masculine when I was within a certain distance of her. That she chose to walk during the morning rush hour minutes before the sun was set to rise.

How insanely interested I became of her. How obsessive that desire was to pull onto a side street so I could meet her. How utterly enamored I've become of this street walker with an ambiguous gender; which excites me.

She is this butterfly that I desperately want to have the thrill of catching; to feel the wings softly beat against my careful hold. Then I would be happy that I met someone so unique.

But alas, I haven't seen her this week. It's getting hotter and it's not nearly as dark any more at 6:20 a.m.

I wonder if I'll see her again.

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