As I sat licking my mango gelato, enjoying the languid late summer afternoon at the bay, I saw the woman walk by. Heading purposefully towards the city, she strode along the beach path, slight and lithe. She looked like she had not had an easy life, about 40 or 50 years of it. Her skin was brown and, punished by the sun and cigarettes, was starting to crack and wrinkle. She wore long hair, more commonly seen on much younger women in New Zealand, and a fishnet singlet, brief denim shorts and sneakers. Her outfit however was completed by her bright pink satin gloves trimmed in black fur.