Protocol

It was a lovely spring evening for a walk. She took to her new route contemplating whether or not to splurge for the Jimmy Choos & the silky selections from the Spring 09 Max Azria collection.

As she passed the tennis courts in the park, one of the figures through the meshed cage of the court looked familiar. His stature, his calves, his beard, his hat, shirt, shorts, shoes. She could pick them out of a camouflaged crowd with the primal sense of shape acuity that can only be known from years of closeness. She wasn't fully convinced until she saw the racquet, the one they bought just two summers before. Through the immanent distance, part of her wanted to wave. Part of her didn't want to potentially ruin their game. It was at once so familiar, and so foreign. Her presence went unnoticed, as an innocent passerby on a warm evening scented with lilacs.