Crossing my path.

The rock salt is sticking between the treads of my black steeltoes, making my feet crunch and clack against the concrete pavement. The sky is winter grey, and a streetcar slices its way near me as I approach the corner.

She is ridiculously short, and at first I think she's a kid from the neighboring grade school. She's wearing a clever red and white striped toque, smart little eyeglasses with gleaming rectangular steel frames, and unhitched red suspenders dangle across her jeans-clad thighs. I like her combat boots. She's busily punching into her Blackberry. Because she's so tiny, and so cute, and I bet she's so smart, I could easily see myself hoisting her over my shoulder and carrying her home like a kitten to rumpus with.

I'm smirking at the thought when, almost immediately, a brunette is passing me by. Her head and face is completely surrounded and framed with scarves and the hoodie, and as she stares at the pavement ahead, it's her cheekbones and soft pudgy nose that get my attention. It's the most fleeting of images as we pass one another, a split second maybe, but already I've seen her face when she's in deep thought, and the image stays with me. At almost the same instant, as was actually pass one another, the scent of her in caught in the snowy air. She smells like vanilla cupcakes, warm and just pulled from the oven. I smile.