“Did you hear about Sofi?” the redhead asked, her hands flapping.
“Incredible,” said the blonde. “With Marcella’s husband!”
I watched and listened, my finger on the camera button, snapping from the shadows. I didn’t know Sofi–who had been caught in bed with Marcella’s husband–nor did I know Marcella, the husband, the blond on the bicycle or the gesticulating redhead. It didn’t matter. The urgency in their voices. The grimaces and clucking. The pursed lips and shaking heads. I was hooked.
They didn’t see me and my camera. They had no idea they might end up here. What would they do if they knew we’re eavesdropping on their conversation the same way they snooped on Sofi?