The first time I saw her sunbathing was during high summer: a nearly naked body prostrate and baking on a frayed beach blanket.

Through autumn and winter, everyday she was out there on her blanket. Even under the oppressive winter sky she darkened. Over time I memorized her skin—its gradations, flaws, and changes.

One evening I saw her out at a restaurant. Winter was lifting but it was still cold. I was sitting alone at a table when a woman appeared in my periphery. I didn’t know her face, but I didn’t need to. The hue of her skin betrayed her identity.

“Excuse me,” I called from my seat. She turned.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean to startle you, but I see you sunbathing everyday. Won’t you sit with me?”

She slid her face into a smile and sank into the offered chair. I extended my hand, hoping she would allow me just one touch of her bronzed hand. She obliged.

It was an exquisite appendage—soft, smooth, slightly toned—and in spite of myself I grew excited.

Unfortunately, with her other exquisite appendage she pulled pepper spray from her coat and wasted no time in shooting me with it.