Not even an inch.Fingertips: Two, now, a symmetric dance. My right brow traced, my left.Cheekbones, jaws. Fingertips: Four now stroking my cheek. Six....Now allyour fingers, Trailing now over my skin -- or maybe touching, just alittle deeper. Maybe a touch beneath the surface, contact withsomething more essential."Do you feel?" you ask. A nod so small no one else can see."We are layers," you say. "Do I touch the outermost, or is it the nextone down? Is it the farthest humming electron of my skin. But with her by the hand was a tall and muscular black guy. Why is the picture unusual? Because it is almost impossible to meet a black person in these places. And I thought maybe some foreigners. The couple sat down nearby and opposite me on a bench. this sight aroused my great interest, because it is not some kind of charging cyclist or runner. I watched them. They were sitting and just talking, but at some point the black guy started kissing the blonde's neck. I felt a strange sensation that. More

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