Yes, I dug her sandals, the B&W tats, the rolled jeans, but I also value my front teeth. Something about the way she was standing and lighting up a smoke in a whoop-ass make-my-day kind of way intimidated me so, like a cringeing vermin, I took this unauthorized photo and was on my creepy way. But not before making the startling connection that her mega-satchel was in fact a diaper bag and the mini-child dancing in the street was in her tender care. I sense she is not up nights poring over Mothering magazine and teaching her infant sign language, and I could hug her for that. Virtual hug. And even then, she would have kicked my judgmental ass.