As I was to cross the street for a Starbucks fix, a tall, black woman walked confidently down the street towards me. Neither I nor the woman next to me could keep our eyes off of her, probably because of her legs.
See, not only was she tall and skinny, she had legs as long as a giraffe's. She had on a pair of hot pink short shorts, and sparkly silver high-heeled sandals. The short shorts were low risers, and showed off a tattoo on her stomach. She was headed towards the Wild Orchid, so I pegged her for a dancer.
Wrong.
As she got closer, I realized that she was a prostitute. What gave it away? She was drug-thin, and her butt cheeks were hanging out of her shorts. Her clothes were well worn and dirty up close. And, she passed right by the Wild Orchid and just kept going, towards the seedier part of Virginia Street.
Still, even after realizing she was a prostitute and not a dancer, the stranger next to me and I could not keep our eyes off of her. I tell you, it was the legs. They were mesmerizing, and also cellulite-less.
While I wouldn't want her lifestyle, I have to admit to wanting those legs. And maybe even the sparkly silver high-heeled shoes that came with them.
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