She asked if she knew me from somewhere else; I said no, and that I don’t forget faces. She leaned in close, putting her lips on my neck, her nose on my neck, and took a deep breath. She liked the way I smell, and repeated what she said about me having good energy. I said it was because someone loves me. She hesitated—when I asked if she lived around here. She said yes—and asked if I had a girlfriend. I said yes—and that I live right up the street. She said she had to work later, and what was once attractive and appealing, became languid and stiff. She hung around my space in the park, looking like one of those people that go to funerals not knowing the deceased. Then got up, moved to her blanket, took off her top, and began tanning again—only this time she didn’t look pretty to me at all.