Trench Coat Diva
I loved leaning against the wrought iron fence on Marlboro St. watching everyone come and go through the Flower Gardens while I smoked.
One drizzling evening I spied a trench coat diva walking toward me when a cab splashed water up and over her, I stepped forward noticing not one drop had touched her, even her hurricane heels remained dry.
Without blinking, her fingers curled a cigarette into her mouth, she winked for a light.
Lighting my cigarette I smiled brushing a finger across my hats brim.
Carelessly I crossed the wet tar seeing our reflections merge, before we did.
