She stands at the crosswalk, a little ways out into traffic: slim, fashionably dressed in all black without ostentation, long, fine straight black hair, pretty face, light brown skin, middle-eastern of some sort.
He runs from down the street, obviously on his way from somewhere to somewhere else: black baseball cap at a rakish angle, open, honest face, also in all black, also light brown skin.
He pauses in his run, touches her on the shoulder, looks sincerely into her eyes, says, "Hey, I really like your hair." and then continues running past us up the street without looking back.
"Thanks," she says lightly, without seeming to be fazed at all (do men do this all the time? do they know each other?), the light turns green, we all cross the street, different directions away from this moment.