Standing stoically at the edge of a pier halfway between Manhattan and Jersey Shore. Overcast but not raining. An old steam liner in the distance. White noise from wind and waves, a few restless gulls hanging on the breeze. Her large, glued lips invite endless romanticizing like the mouth of the Mona Lisa as she turns halfway my direction with her arms hugging her body for warmth while the wind plays with the hem of her flower dress dancing back and forth around her legs. From here the horizon extends forever in all directions.