Ancient fur-rimmed hat sits smoking

Extra longs

Fumbling with her brand-evident keychain

Arthritic hands, shaking

Sipping medium steam coffee

Tossing her ashes to the floor

Looking up at the Observer

Snarling her anger at the intrusion

Defiant eyes return to the Sunday tabloid

Sighing in smoke and wetting her red lips

At the juicy horrors of printed misery

Finishing her last drop of coffee

She pauses and barks demands

“A Free Refill” at the clerk

Returns to her seat and groans into it

Picks up the paper to resume her intellectual pursuits

An smiles

At death

Unquenched and dissatisfied

Notes: It appears I was back in the mall, watching people and hoping for some vicarious excitement. Sounds like I was deep in a pessimistic funk.

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