1967.
I was twelve and melting in the back seat. Our car had no AC.
A red light.
I pushed my head out the window and spied a brownstone across the street, eyes drifting to a window.
She appeared, tall, slim, black hair, black turtleneck. A student? A beatnik, the word Hippy not yet part of the lexicon. She slipped off her turtleneck and stood in her black bra. Black bra. Who knew? The Sixties. Bras were only seen in public on clotheslines.
I felt her gaze. I lifted my eyes to her face. She was smiling. I smiled back. The world went silent. Until that godamn horn
blasted. I turned. The light changed. I turned back. She was gone.