It's not funny, Charity

That evening was still sweltering hot, just without the flaming sun overhead. It hovered submissivley at the horizon, spreading pinks and golds through the sky like a painter dashing great streaks of colour through a bleak blue backround.

I clutched my shawl close around my shoulders as I picked my way carefully through Central Park.

What others must have thought, I didn't want to know. I lone maid girl out in the late evening when all the rest of my kind were waiting on the rich in their 5th Avenue mansions still.

How could I know who to go up to?

There weren't many people around that l would ever trust being les than 10 meters away from me.

Oh Dear Lord, I thought. This is not funny, Charity. What the hell have you got yourself into? It's all a farce. There's no mystery courter. No romantic Romeo waiting beneath a beautiful tree with soft petals falling around him.

As if.

The End

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