A graceless dancer, she staggered through empty midnight streets. Crows watched silently from above; moonlight and fog painting a lonely tableau. In her wake the smell of cheap perfume and alcohol, the bittersweet aroma of heartbreak and sorrow.
She stopped and leaned against a wall, fumbled through her purse and pulled out a crumpled pack of Parliament Lights and lit it with her last match. This night would claim her, tepid trembling fingers reaching from the coldest depths of hell to pull her down and swallow her whole.
