Cum Walk

She steps off the railing in daylight, skirt still crooked. His load is drying on her cheeks and chin, thick white streaks that catch the sun. People walk past and stare, phones half-raised. She keeps going, shoulders back, mouth swollen, every wet print on her skin marking where he finished. Her heels click on the bridge deck. A man turns, another slows down; she doesn’t drop her eyes. The breeze lifts her hair and drags the scent of him right into the crowd. She crosses the whole span like that, marked and walking, each step daring them to look harder.