Blonde housewife, tight black tank top, ostentatious backward stretch pushing her breasts skyward as she sits eyeing college boys.
"Cougar", they call them now. She's the Cougar Queen of Santa Cruz.
Sees me looking, makes and holds eye contact, her moment of appraisal, claiming dominance. I blow her a kiss from my bench across the street, and she laughs and waves, never suspecting that in my heart of hearts she's far too old, maybe a whole generation, depending what the makeup hides.