Another steamy southern evening unraveled as usual. Outside on her piazza, Coco finished their last drops of her second glass of wine. Finally cooled by the rushing air from the rusty, paint chipped fan found years before in her Grandmother's attic, she decided to dress. Rising from the rocking chair she stood bottomless, unconcerned with staring neighbors, Coco partially buttoned her blouse then walked to her boudoir where she slipped into her Seersucker jeans. Mischievous thoughts raced through her mind as she stretched in front of the gilded, framed, floor length mirror. Seersucker Jeans always had this effect on her. She made a quick phone call that made her eyes fiery. Suddenly the sky was darker. Coco headed out her front door. She started her convertible, looked at herself in the rearview mirror and whispered, I feel a sin coming on.