I sit on the tram, her skin talks. She’s a smoker, likes a drink her heart struggles. Lined face covered in makeup like icing covering cracks on a cake. Wrinkled like a goanna, surely not that old. She coughs, not long now, must leave the tram.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this:
close-alt close collapse comment ellipsis expand gallery heart lock menu next pinned previous reply search share star