As I go towards the escalator a young fellow and a girl get on ahead of me.
Her dress, her stockings are skin-tight.
She places one foot above the other upon the steps and her behind assumes its position.
The young man looks all about. He appears worried. He looks at me. I look away.
No, you see, I am looking away, I am not looking at your girl's behind.
Don't worry, I respect everything; the flowers that grow, the birds, the sky, the universe.
I sense that the young man feels better and I am glad for him.
I know his problems: the girl has a mother, a father, maybe a brother, and undoubtedly a bunch of relatives.
She like to dance and flirt.
And she likes to go to movies and sometimes she chews the gum and talks at the same time.
And she enjoys the dumbest TV shows.
And she thinks she's an actress.
And she doesn't always look good.