The Smokers’ Bench

She wore a delicately cute outfit, what there was of it. Sitting coolly, smoking one last cigarette before her flight, she stared out at the dark void of the early morning. Her perfume wafting to passerbys lending to the sensory barrage of sounds, smells and activity of the security zone. Bleached hair and an unnaturally even tan, revealed her older than her long legs and shoulders spilling from her halter jumpsuit would have implied.

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