I first noticed her skin, fine porcelain white, beautiful beyond belief. Her eyes were deep, her lashes thick and long. Her pale skin was offset by red lipstick and matching nail polish. Her dark hair was sleek, touching her shoulders and curling slightly. She had presence.
She sat nonchalantly drumming her elegant fingers on the steering wheel of the car. Maybe it was a trick of the late afternoon sun, but she seemed wreathed in mist, delicate, an angelic effect. There was something about her.
I had a desire to look again, to drink in the scene, to capture it forever. A picture is worth a thousand words, and this was the picture. I felt it would take every one of them to describe the scene before me. It was overwhelming except … in a harsh reality, the scene changed.
In a casual flick of her fingers, a cigarette butt flew out of the window to land in the gravel by the front wheel. Smoke dribbled from her nose and mouth.
It gave the effect of a bull I had seen one frosty morning, snorting in the icy air. Ugly – its anger growing exponentially, seemingly irritated by the steam from his nose, as unsightly from him as it was from her.