V Sweater
It happened on the corner of Broadway and 47th Street. The girl leaned against the building, running her fingers through her bleached hair and smiling more than-casually at the male passers-by.
She wore a plaid skirt and a low-cut V-neck sweater. Finally, one of her come hither looks paid off and she was approached by a young man with a familiar glint in his eye.
"Hi," he said, undressing her mentally.
"Hello, handsome."
His eyes focused on her sweater and the curves it almost covered. "What's the V for?" he asked. "Veronica?"
"Uh-uh. Virgin."
"Oh, come on," he said playfully. "You're a virgin?"
"No," she winked. "It's an old sweater."
