Portrait of a Broadway Lady

Carefully sitting on the stool, she counts out some change in slow motion, pauses, and tries to remember why she’s there. Electrified bleached-white hair shoots out from her white powdered face. A slight furrowing of her brow disturbs her immobility. The counterman waits impatiently. She concentrates, then whispers the order he already knows. "Coffee regular and a sugar doughnut." He turns and walks away slowly as her shaky fingers dig into her bag. She takes out a slim cigar, lights it and puffs on it automatically without removing it from her lips. A permanent black mark runs across her middle finger where many cigars have burned unnoticed. The morning passes as she sits staring straight ahead. Smoke puffs out of her mouth, trails up from the end of her cigar, and circles her head, shrouding her petrified hair. Untouched, her coffee turns cold.