After the delightful dinner with friends, we walk through the charming West Village neighborhood, soaking in all the cute stoops and lovely front rooms (all open and uncurtained to the streets), when I stop short.
"They're having sex," I say, and indeed they are, across the street in one of the houses, standing no less, naked and pumping away in full view of the (admittedly low traffic side-)street. They are barely obscene, despite being framed in the window quite in flagrante delicto, since they are mashed so close together that no naked parts are really showing, and we watch them for quite some time until the gentleman apparently finishes up and notices us peeping.
We hurry away, giggling, and Katie says, "Well there may be no sex in the champagne room, but there certainly is in the parlor."
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