The Old Smoker

Her face showed the many lines of many stories. Many songs, many precious times. Draped in jewels, it was evident this worn beauty was used to taking pride in her appearance, spending what few dollars she had on pieces that caught her eye on her many travels.

Her nail polish suggested busy hands; worn like the paint on a beach house and chipped like the stairway on a family home, passed down through generations.

She was constantly followed by an opaque waft of smoke, one of her many vices – along with drinking and gossiping; all habits which she refused to surrender. A traveller down to her core, she was. Even after all this time.

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