Chameleon phased yet again. Absorbing the grain of the stucco wall, he took on the tone of the local grime. Invisible now, he watched.
Disturbed faces strolled by. A man's nervous twitch rippled through his beard before melding in the wrinkles around his dark eyes. A prostitute straightened her skirt, but judging by her features, not her mind.
Nothing shook Chameleon's disguise. Chameleon was invulnerable; this street would not penetrate his armour. A druggie, a wino, a pimp, he could absorb and become all. He played the role of a convict once, while hanging out at a dockside bar. He had told everyone, with pride, how he could slit a throat and read his own future from the pattern of spilt blood.
From the distance, a beautiful girl waltzed towards him. Her perfectly blond hair streaming behind. Her open white blouse buttoned down to reveal a soft cleavage; tempting as a shot of Vodka to a recovering alcoholic. So tempting.... Her unblemished fingers caressed an unlit cigarette, its fate so tenuous in the presence of a flame.
He looked at her long smooth legs swinging from a pair of high cut-off shorts. Stride after stride, they hit the pavement in evenly measured paces. Clip, clip, clip, clip, the heels clicked along. A picaresque image violating the ugliness of the slums.
Chameleon watched as the image noticed a reflection of itself in a store window. It paused; twirled, and continued on its way. Another window, a glance, a flick of the blond hair. Her hair... it made Chameleon remember the sensation of passing his face through a cobweb. Now, he really wanted to pass his face through hers.
The strides resumed. Perfect still, despite this recent show of narcissistic weakness. Another four steps. Yet another pause, giggle, and twirl.
"Incredible", thought Chameleon, "she's more than I could ever covet."
Seven more steps and she drew even with him. He acted at once. She was too perfect to ignore. He moved from the wall and matched her stride. Step, step, step, he thought of her body moving in sync to his own; step, step, step, step. They moved together, to a secret rhythm, faster and faster.
She seemed oblivious to his presence. Stride after stride, she continued on her journey. Chameleon gathered his pride, put on his best face, and tapped upon her shoulder: "Can I offer you a light?"
Horror screeched out of her eyes. She jumped back from his hand. Ripping her nails across the shoulder he had touched. Screaming, screaming, screaming, at the sky with unforgivable hatred, "Fuck Off! Fuck Off! Fuuuuucccckkkkkk Offfffffffffff!".
"Ha ha ha
ha ha ha
ha ha ha
ha ha ha "
Like a whirlwind, the laughter echoed through the cavern that had been her mind. Like an old friend, laughter always came to her side at these moments; the one friend she could count on. Like a desperately needed drug, her fix of strangers' laughter arrived just in time.
The Chameleon panicked. Thoughts raced through his mind as the mocking laughter echoed on. So distracting. He had shattered the fragile world she had constructed for herself. She had seemed so happy, so normal. Damn her! Then her outburst. In his alarm, just for a brief moment, he let his guard slip and was seen out of disguise... causing him to vanish from her sight.
Comforting tears blinded her eyes; let her feel the regular pulse of the strangers' laughter. The image fell to her knees. Clutching her violated shoulder. Her hands shielding her face. Her long hair covering her body like a shawl. She crawled along the sidewalk to a wall; curled up her body and wept.
