I see a Brazilian chick wearing a short black skirt just long (or short) enough to cover her girlie parts, canvas-hiking boots that are well past worn out, a beat up gray sweater that she could have borrowed from her Grandmother or purchased for five hundred dollars at Anthropologie. Wild, nappy hair, as if she used to have dreadlocks and has tried to comb them out, clumps of hair that are dyed platinum white and some that are died blond to give depth and texture to her brunette quaff.
She carries a persona that she is trying to pull off, defiantly an urban city girl with a love for punk edge – I bet she can hold her own. The only thing that is odd about her is her hands. Her hands look much older than the rest of her. The Brazilian chick is thin, young, olive skinned, 20ish, with style, but her hands look as if to belong to a woman in her seventies; a woman who has worked a lifetime with those hands.
Small, round red glasses perched on the edge of her nose while she sits with good posture having a video-chat on her laptop with a lady that is obviously Chinese speaking Mandarin.
A Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese to a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin and it is quite clear that they both understand each other just by all the laughter they are sharing.
As for me, OK, yes I do feel a little guilty eves-dropping on them but neither of them knows it. I am sitting in a coffeehouse on the upper east side of Pittsburgh, one table behind her and a row of tables separating us. It’s hard not to notice a crazy (but cool) looking Brazilian chick speaking Portuguese and laughing out loud while having a v-chat with a Chinese lady speaking Mandarin…Ok, I am not eves-dropping, just witnessing the spectacle.
Brazilian chick and the Chinese lady both start dancing to the Humpty dance song that has started playing over the coffeehouse stereo system.
The Chinese lady just kissed her monitor and pressed her breast to the screen while dancing to the music. Both start laughing painfully louder than before ~ they’re probably making fun of the creepy guy at the corner table eves-dropping while writing in his journal.
