A Bridge to Home: A Piece of Baltimore

I first looked at her, saw her all at once, that morning. Both of us saw the physical woman who seemed so at home in the lobby of the Lord Baltimore, short brunette hair barely kissing the collar of her white silk blouse, the long, crossed legs and the Armani heel, dangling like a moss green bauble from her tapping toe as she searched on her phone. Authentic, for some reason that English word flashed in my mind like a neon billboard in Tokyo. She was the real thing, the rarest of things, an...