Page 25 - Self Talk

The skin on top of her hands was translucent,
like an egg membrane, sheltering fragile blue veins.
Clusters of liver spots had settled close to her knuckles, unmistakably masking arthritis underneath.
A floppy gold band on the appointed finger hinted at the ecstasy of her youth.
Inching down the street, she dragged one leg slightly behind as if it were a cheap wire cart.
Matted gray hair matched what was left of her tattered coat, having lost its buttons in another life.
A dollop of tomato-red lipstick had missed her lower lip and settled on her chin.