There is a bongo player on the sidewalk, and a woman has stopped to dance. She has only one leg.
She raises her arms above her head, hitting the air with each beat, bending at the knee and bumping her rear to the music. She’s an excellent dancer.
All of us crane our necks to watch. The two young men next to me let out low whistles. “Damn,” one of them says. “She got it.”