Leather Boots and Bra – Sunglasses in Hand. Heels on Cobblestones.

I take off the sunglasses, not for you, but because I want to see who is waiting. My gaze goes to the side, the bag hangs from its chain, the boots stand firm between the joints. The harbour crane behind me. The grey suits my coldness.

You stand at the corner, hands in your pockets, pretending you have a reason to be here. You do not. You are here because I walk past.

Here you see the look. Whether it is meant for you, I will not say. Perhaps I have a task for you ... right here, quite publicly ... a single pointed finger is enough...