I'm in the open air, heat reaches my pores and bounces off. A car rolls to a stop. The driver, a smoker, has a missing front tooth and an artist's beret.
I'm thinking: I wonder what he did today.
He smiles at me, moves his mouth, and makes the ok sign with his pointer finger and thumb. I can't understand him over the smells of summer.
"Nice legs," he says.
Again, I am bewildered.
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