Angie wrote on a piece of paper.

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Angie wrote on a piece of paper: a kiss.

A kiss. Yes, she got a kiss.

It wasn't a big deal. Lots of people had gotten kisses. Whether they are mothers’ kisses when she caresses their babies or lovers’ long French kisses with their tongues out - such lovers were standing under the streetlight in front of her house all the time, untiringly (and without regard for the feelings of others) drawing on the charms of two lips.

In any case, such nourishment was rare for a single woman in her seventies. She touched her lips. They’re dry and slightly wrinkled.

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