John was leaning against the stone parapet, the ink-blue jeans tightly hugging his narrow hips. He had long shaken off the hood, and now the river wind tousled his hair, the blonde strands moving like frosted grass in a wintry field. As she set her eyes upon him, Anna couldn’t help a stupid grin. There was something inherently bright about him, even when he frowned and pouted like a petulant child. The way he walked without moving his shoulders, like an African water carrier, the theatrical grace with which he leaned against that stone wall… He was so over the top, that it made her want to laugh. She tried to recall, if there had been anyone else who’d made her feel so lightheaded, and couldn’t think of anyone. Except Genie, when she clowned about, driving her mad with incessant silliness, but Genie was an intimate friend. John was a nobody. She didn’tknow him. Then why did it feel like it did? And why did it make her happy?