Her face wasn’t the only thing that could inspire art, but Vincent’s thoughts on her shapely snowflaked backside were suddenly scattered as she turned a corner and disappeared. Seemed unnecessary to add anything at all, and it distracted from her dark eyes. Her full lips seemed to be what humans desired for kissing, even though he questioned the value of the color she added. And Clarinda Hawkins certainly fit the bill with a perfectly proportioned, light brown face framed by burgundy tipped braids. His programming included an understanding of the Greeks’ golden mean and what humans considered beautiful. He had to admit his assignment to watch her was no great hardship. His superior eyesight kept her in his sights when others wouldn’t have been able to see her at all. He rose from his camouflaged location and followed, keeping a fair distance from the African American woman wearing an ivory sweater over tight blue ski pants covered in snowflakes. And seeing him in their vicinity too often was bound to raise suspicions. Not that he’d been really trying to hide, but he didn’t want them suspicious of him either. It was obvious from the way Katrina McKenna kept glancing his way, that he’d been spotted in the ski lounge. He needed to be more careful in his surveillance. Explore the SunLit archives at /sunlit.įrom a bench among nearby exotic plants, Vincent watched Clarinda Hawkins walk speedily into the retail dome alone. ![]() Each week, The Colorado Sun and Colorado Humanities & Center For The Book feature an excerpt from a Colorado book and an interview with the author.
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