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She nods from behind a coffee shop counter, "Good book." Another Burroughs compilation. Difficult. (Like most.) She dispenses the usual dosage of espresso... "Have you read Junky?" ...then, from a stainless steel receptacle, she pours milk -- two percent -- steamed to 155 degrees. "Yeah." (Must be a college girl, I decide.) A little hotter than usual, but desirable on this cold, blustery day. Her elbow raises to drain the container, and I inadvertently glance down the sleeve of her oversized T-shirt. "Much more accessible..." A thin upper arm, exposed above a few days of stubble and the strap of a black satin bra. "Interesting style." Smooth, pale flesh... "Moving." Her jeans are similarly loose, but I detect soft curves on this adolescently thin body -- and consider the possibility of more black satin concealed beneath the near-shapeless denim. An intriguing notion, unexpectedly dark. (Like her stubble.) "...let me know if it's too hot."
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