She brushed by me, smelling slightly of pears and tobacco. It was an odiferous experience that I had often tried to recreate by smoking and burning pear-scented candles in the closet of my apartment. I tried all the generic candles, and had even shelled out a few extra dollars to buy an expensive Yankee Candle. I even tried using pear-scented women’s shampoo. But nothing came close. There must have been some womanly power that emitted it. Some sort of essence of her womanhood that emanated from her pores.

Slumping into her seat, she immediately and expertly cast her bag to the other side and looked out the window. I looked at her in the rear view mirror. It was a divine division; her face staring into the eyes of her reflection. I couldn’t imagine the conversations she could hold with herself. The sort of conversations you share with a friend that consist of simply a look, often lasting less than a second.