She wears black capri pants with a light black sweater over a turquoise shirt with a matching turquoise necklace. Her hair is black with brown streaks, down to her shoulder. She has that elegant neckline, like Audry Hepburn and sits ever so proper with her legs crossed at the ankles. At a small round table, she reads the paper, sipping her espresso. She doesn't have a perfect face, but in fact a beautiful one. Her eyes are so dark I can't tell the colour. Her skin is a light olive, naturally fresh and I imagine silk to the touch. Her lips are thin, not highlighted by shades to focus attention, and yet very inviting. I am suddenly thrown into a Paris café by the site of her. There is in fact some light jazz playing in the background, lead by a xylophone, followed by Caribbean horns - cha-cha-cha...
My heart dies a little as she gets up to leave. Her black leather shoes leaves the sounds echoing in my head even now that she is on her way... As suddenly as she appears, she is gone.
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