Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
She reeked of wine and cigarettes and floating above it like nuclear fallout from a mushroom cloud that ate and muted every living thing in it’s path was perfume- old perfume. Dusty smelling perfume, the kind of perfume some women get for Valentine’s Day and wear to much of, strangely enough, to make themselves attractive enough to get more of it from lots of other men on other holidays.
She wears giant platform shoes and a slash of dark red lipstick and when she smokes she tilts her chin up in the air and shoots the smoke out of her lips, and after she likes to look deeply into your eyes when she’s done.
It’s sort of like watching the Little Engine That Could chugging it’s way across the tracks to meet the Big Engine That Did.
You don’t want to laugh, but you know…you do .
She writes poems about passion, she listens to music about passion, she collects art inspired by passion and when she talks about passion her eyes turn to stone and her face becomes a granite mask and her voice, her dry flat voice strangles each word, every syllable before it passes her lips and hits the air.
She’s oh so very dramatic to the marrow of her Dramabones.