She was thin and wore jogging pants over a navy blue one-piece swimsuit. When she turned away from me, smile fading at the voice of the unshaven man leaning lewdly out the window of his lifted pickup, I saw that it was a Y-back. Something I didn't hear came from him and she gave him a one-finger salute, prompting him to start opening the door, but another person in the cab grabbed the back of his shirt and floored the gas. Exhaust billowed out the back and she tucked her face into her left elbow as the truck roared away, spitting fumes and gravel and sand. He returned the salute and was gone.
The smile was replaced by a grimace when she lowered her arm. I kept walking down the road which brought me closer, and I raised my hand in a neighborly wave. She returned it half-heartedly.
"Are you alright?" I called out.
"Men are pigs," she growled back, inclined to include me in the generalization.
"You'll get no argument from me on that score. But at least some of them are cute."
She was turning to go but did a double-take when she realizes my words. "What," she asked incredulously, "did you say?"
"Not him." I shuddered deliberately. "Too much... machismo."
She tilted her head, checking me out. "What about you?"
I shrugged. "Mild testosterones deficiency. Even if I wanted, I couldn't be that," I flapped my hand in the direction of the departed truck.
Her tone turned inquisitive. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to see that smile you were showing off earlier, but other than that, nothing." I resumed my stroll as a grin played at the corners of my mouth.
When I was almost past, she called out, "What campsite are you in?"
I raised both arms and hands above my head, all fingers fully extended.