On Korzo, I first caught sight of her flowy skirt painting shadows on her legs, the Croatian sun highlighting her wide smile.
“Dobar dan!”
Like a siren, she made me follow. The clacking of her high heels on the marble floor was her song.
Through the passage of Gradska ura, she called me, leaving the old town behind. Just the sight in front of me held me captive.
At the fountain of Jadranski Trg she splashed water on her gorgeous décolleté. The wind caught in her skirt – no panties. Her lips glistened as wet as her cleavage.
Shielding my eyes against the blinding sun, I looked again.
She was gone.
