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February 2, 2005
She was a sprightly one from what I could see. I kept my distance (at least what I thought was my distance—I had never done this before) and was often obscured by tens of tens of busy faces. Through the swirling Manhattan rush, her golden hair bounced here and there between passerby, pedestrians, and plain people. But it wasn't just her hair; it was all of her. She was dancing with her walk and laughing with her strut. She carried herself with the air of a woman who had every care in the world, and every care was free.