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Surrender

Pantless she left the hot yoga class and sauntered jauntily in the direction of the Northern Line, a tubal wind gently tempting her skirt skyward. The zip on her right boot having finally surrendered to the power of her leg, she allowed both shiny vessels to unfurl warrior-style exposing the entire length of her smooth calves.

“Excuse me,” said a gentleman behind her as she embarked the tall escalator at Balham. “Your zip’s undone.”

“Oh yes,” she replied, “my boot – it’s broken.”

“No,” he replied kindly, “your skirt.”

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