SHE IS NOT A PROSTITUTE

Well, she didn't look like a prostitute.

Well, never.

Even close.

Even a hint. What, I haven't seen prostitutes, or what?

There was something unearthly about her. (As if I often met with the unearthly...)

She looked like an angel. What would angels look like if they existed and were among people. I see angels all the time

- Well, a human woman passed by, but on the other side of the street an angel walks, she folded her wings and now looks almost like a man ...

- Nothing unusual…

And this…

She was sitting in an open cafe on the corner. Right behind the Mill Colonnade, in Karlovy Vary. One behind a tiny and round, white, openwork table. On exactly the same, openwork chair. And the cup of coffee was so thin, it shone through. Bohemian porcelain, probably, I thought ...

Even though I didn't know what Bohemian porcelain looked like...

But that's probably how it is...

Everything looked like it was painted. With shadows and partial shadows, with drawing and even with perspective. And the background blurred so well, like in bokeh (a photographic term for blurring), that it directly stuck out along with a table, chair, cup of coffee, or was it hot chocolate? With a half smile and a hint of interest in everything that happens around.

Including me.

Not to say that I'm interested in her. This was also immediately visible. It probably attracted the white spot of my hair, "sweetened" - as my hairstyle was sometimes called from almost white, gray hair, but still quite long and curly, if it was actively blown by the wind.

Distracted from what she was immersed in and her gaze slid over me. For a moment. Yes, to my hair. And she immediately looked away, apparently because the sun was right behind me and blinded her.

But I was already interested! It seems nothing special, just a girl, around 35 years old, quite slim by my standards, very stylish, dressed to my taste ...

Or rather, very stylishly undressed. There was no artsy neckline or bare to the most unnecessary legs. No flashy colors, no conspicuous jewelry or accessories. The clothes just complemented her perfect figure. Quite a decent chest was drawn under the fabric of the dress that covered it. Something light pink, more flesh. And the abandoned cross-leg did not look at all for show. Rather, on the contrary, she hid herself and something else, in the depths. And the color of the hair to match the dress. And not a short, but not a long haircut. Not twisted curls and not ironed curls.

Angel.

And like I was in a light jacket, and she was completely undressed ...

Oh yes, there was a gas lamp nearby and warmed it ...

And as soon as I entered the proximity of her space, a waiter appeared next to the lamp. In a white shirt with a black bow tie and a black apron right down to the floor. Such an exclamation mark. But staring inquiringly at me, he shifted his gaze from me to her, but nevertheless, very decisively blocking my path to her.

Seeing in his eyes that he would tear me if I took another step, I stopped in bewilderment.

And the next moment, once again looking away from me at her, he was already setting up a chair for me, which appeared in his hand right out of thin air. Although, they certainly know how to do such tricks cleaner than any charlatan wizards ...

Those. I was admitted to her. At her table. With her permission.

But why, the first thing that came to mind when I saw her was that she was a prostitute?