Looking intently: what you want to see? (plain nonsense)

Brooke is pretty, snappy, glamorous, and has a well-paying job.
Drives a shiny new car, has her hair done four times a week, her nails once, and wakes up early every day to sweat and puff in tightly colorful clothes at the gym near her place.

After a twenty minute commute, listening to bursting-recent, on the charts, Mtv awarded songs, she spends a good part of her day divided between interviews with high-profile customers and writing legal pieces and preparing for appellate court briefs and oral arguments.

Wearing large sunglasses with lightly yellow coated lens, she drives talking on the phone or to somebody on the passenger seat, while looking uninterestedly to the landscape by the road. What does she see? Where is she looking at?

At nights, on the large soft couch at the center of her loft by the Park, or out on the dancing floor of a club she likes to go, she looks at the women, noticing every little detail, the matching of the rings, dress, shoes, watches. She sees them, I am sure, quite well.