Thursday morning in the garden

Her faux fur drapes across her shoulders
Atop a bra made from dense black lace
Matching her long faded lipstick
Her legs dangle like water droplets
As she sits on his lap
Both of them pinch their wine glasses like tiny teacups
The content spilling as the talk together
A story of misadventure from the night before
They swear in unison
Throwing f’s and c’s
She laughs at the catastrophe
It catches roughly in her throat
She swills her red wine before gulping
Hanging loosely between matchstick fingers
She inhales an overly long menthol cigarette
Something about her eyes seems scared
Something about her pasty white skin seems off
She tries to talk and coughs again
She smokes and drinks to push the words away
She laughs instead
His legs shift beneath her all-bone bottom
She jiggles around
Seemingly unperturbed by the move
Keeping straight back stance
As he adjusts upon the old style garden chair
A hand across her back
Morning sun in his squinty eyes
His dirty hair upon her shoulder
She drinks again
Smacks her lips
And inhales

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