We find some benches in the sunlight. I can see people walking past and shoppers coming out of the Aero Theater and just next door to us some little wooden tables and black chairs set out on the sidewalk in front of the café, where people sit drinking their iced mochas in plastic cups. They all seem young and beautiful. Even the ones in jeans and T-shirts seem stylish and well dressed. I wonder how they can do this. Maybe it is the way they sit—the way the men cross their legs at the knees and delicately finger their cups. Then I notice that a few people have on expensive glasses despite their casual clothes. At the nearest table a man sits with his legs crossed this way. It is the girl’s way, but he seems stylish and sits with a thin girl who could be a model and has a Rottweiler sitting at her boots. Looking closer, I see that she is probably a bit too old to be a model, though she is tall and girlish.

I try crossing my legs his way, though soon it hurts my knee and I uncross it again.

The woman catches me glancing at her and smiles, and I look down.

Tomas has always made fun of Rottweilers, but this one seems friendly and comes over. Without looking at the owners, I reach over and scratch it behind the ear.

He likes you, the man says.

The woman agrees.