Disappearing Girl

Before every ride in Saigon, she prepared herself for battle against the sun.

Long sleeves.

Gloves.

Face mask.

Dark sunglasses.

By the time she climbed onto the scooter, barely an inch of skin was visible.

I used to joke that if she walked past me on the street, I might not even recognize her.

She would laugh.

"He he he..."

Then she would wrap her arms around me anyway.

So I suppose recognition was never really a problem.