(Inspired by a photograph by Fred Stein)

She stood on Mulberry Street, composed and defiant. Even in her apron and pinafore dress she held herself regally with half a cigarette casually resting between the fingers of her left hand, and a large clutch bag tucked under her right arm.

Her messy curls sprang wildly over her bisque brow like cotton candy while her black Mediterranean eyes sized me up. Smiling back at her, I let the camera wink at her friends and their looks of disapproval.

But she . . . my queen, she looked at me amused, maybe a little impressed while I took shot after shot, not even giving a thought to the idea of having overstayed my welcome.

“Won’t you speak to me, Signora?” my words met her friends’ disgust and furrowed brows immediately and yet I had no care for either.

The smirk across her mauve lips made it all fade into the background like the noise of the city.