Please explain how our underwear can fall off when you're standing in the posture of the Colossus of Rhodes.  As usual, she's looking at us, but there's no embarrassment here - just a sort of nonchalant boy-what-a-day expression. In fact, her problem seems to be our gaze, not the fact that her underwear has fallen off on a streetcorner. If we weren't there, you get the feeling she'd just stare straight ahead, panties around her ankles, and then hobble across the street when the traffic permitted.

Of course, maybe she's waiting for the same bus described in the previous picture, which would give the driver another reason to goggle. Then the driver would go home and kill himself, because while one could alwas believe a woman's underwear might fall off some other day in the future, it would never happen twice in the same shift again. No reason to go on living.

Celery is present. No leering man, though. In fact, she stands in a disembodied universe, a Magritte-like expanse of surreal oblivion beyond.