Woman In Black

There is a woman on my street who I’ve noticed twice now. She walks past the corner store across from my apartment, twice in an all-black outfit, each unique in their own way.

I don’t know this woman; I only see her and somehow understand the type of person she is. I know this much—she is unlike the other women I see.

What’s most compelling to me is that she smokes cigarettes, which, in this neighborhood is a rarity. Her smoking and her strutting effortlessly carve the icy winter street.

I’ve not seen her face. Only the outline of her body which is covered in a black leather jacket or puffer. I wonder if she is aware of her relation to the environment, and how opposite she is to the ordinary.