Nameless Book

The woman herself owned a plain beauty—she had not yet painted her face for the night of work—it was only 11:00 in the morning, and she was on her way—waitressing at a simple restaurant across town. Her face was lightly tanned, with several freckles on each cheek—below the blue, Californian eyes. Her hair was sandy-blonde, with no bleaching or coloring—only from the sun. She stood at five feet eight inches. Her figure was sculpted with genes and discipline—running every morning and—every evening (her night job she’ll go to later)—dancing in the colors—