First, I notice her stylish black suede high-tops, awaiting the westbound bus along Jackson at Fifth. Their owner removes her earbuds, so she can hear me compliment the footware. Black tights under a short black skirt, with an oversized studded purse slung over a matching hoodie, complete the ensemble.
A gent with silver threads in his beard saunters up to the woman, whose straightened hair is streaked with honey-colored strands. “Are you a model?” he croaks. “You look like a model.” She smiles and answers, “no.” The man, fresh out of pickup lines, ambles away.
“Good try,” comments a greek chorus of one — a middle-aged loiterer, sprawled on a concrete planter. The woman catches my eye and we exchange wordless amusement.
Three minutes later he’s back, with a more pious approach — requesting advice on religion. The woman reveals she’s a Seventh Day Adventist, and attends services at 25th and Columbia. Their talk turns to the Sabbath. “The seventh day on Sunday is manmade,” she informs him. “The Bible says it’s on Saturday.”
The man promises to attend a service, then strolls away, his lips upturned. It’s almost as good as getting her number, he must be thinking. “He’s trying the God aspect to pick you up,” I observe. She turns to me — we laugh. He doesn’t have a prayer.
