She sat on the leather couch perpendicular to mine. Her fidgeting fingers grazed along the accentuated small ridges of wrinkles. I stared at her and wondered, ‘what you are expecting?’ Her outfit: mere black leggings and a tank top variation of sorts that brazenly drew attention to a line of cleavage, where I struggled not leer. It could have been my imagination, but she seemed to have noticed. She looked down and played...