On a stool, in Starbucks.
Brown cowboy boots, to mid-calf.
Bare, pale legs.
Red patterned cotton dress, light, soft, draped over crossed legs.
Tight around her waist. Clinging to her wide hips, her not-petite ass, her large breasts.
Buttoned up one button too high.
Long, dirty blonde hair, wavy, slightly two-toned.
Big green eyes, full lips, a big, big mouth, that’s open constantly as she talks, and talks, and talks, dramatically, about herself.
I wouldn’t like her.
But she’s fun to look at.
She was. Thankfully, we didn’t speak.