The blonde woman smokes in the doorway, out of the wind. It's still not as cold as it's going to be yet, but the wind carries hints of what's to come, a chill foreshadowing of doom.
She squints at the smoke, thin cigarette pinched in her fingers, lips pursed in disapproval of the world. Whatever she sees, it's not enough, or too much, or she just wishes it were doing something else, burning, maybe.
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