A bright, sunny day in Barcelona. My eyes were glued to the dark-skinned woman. In her left hand, she held a yellow straw hat with a wide brim. Though I only saw her from a distance, she had the most sensuous mouth and the longest and blackest hair I’d ever seen, shiny like coal and cascading over her shoulders all the way down to her slender hips.
...
“You’re not English, are you?” I said.
“Guess.”
“Pakistani?”
“No, no,” she said and broke into a throaty laugh that lit up her chestnut brown eyes.
I threw up my hands. “I’m sorry, I give up,” I said.
“I’m from Goa,’” she said. “From India. We invented the Kama Sutra, you know.”