Underneath, Below, above, Inside

Darlene was aware of every part of her body as, like a leaf in a brook, she wafted through Fifth Avenue throngs. She could feel the skin of her breasts lightly vibrating against her rib cage; she could feel the skin on her legs cooled by a breeze blowing under her skirt; she could feel a tack in her sandal irritating her bare sole.

Passers-by who saw Darlene saw a tall brunette strolling through crowds, skillfully avoiding collision. Yet Darlene knew that under the delicately printed petunias on her nylon blouse, under her cotton slip and billowing purple skirt, under her bikini briefs, she was walking down Fifth Avenue naked.

She looked at all of them flowing past, executives in suits, tourists in creases and cameras, teens in jeans, workers in cover-alls. She looked at them and knew that along Fifth Avenue and throughout the world, no matter how many clothes they wear, underneath the bright colors, the falsies, the girdles, below the hats and turbans, above the high heels, inside the parkas, the saris, the habits, none of them, no one at all, can ever be anything but naked.