Sipping a Cigarette

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There is a lady on a bridge sipping a cigarette through a veil. 
She has been there a long, long time, and the sayings of everyone all say a different thing. 
"A heartbroken Italian mistress," they say. "A promiscuous Mexican murderess."
And so she seems, shirt open, the space between bare, breasts just barely covered. 
"She died drunk in a car," they whisper. "She dropped down into the water."
Sunglasses shaped like a cat's make them blind to her eyes, and she sips her cigarette like a convict enjoying a meal. Her veil is edged with white lace in a thick band and dyed bright scarlet, the color of clay in the earth, or of a feather from a jealous parrot's plumage. 
She sips her cigarette through sheer scarlet and leans carelessly against the rail as water darker than her hair rushes underneath. A smile curls under eyes that reflect as a cat's as a cigarette meets veil meets lips. 
A heartbroken Italian mistress, she died drunk in a car.
A promiscuous Mexican murderess, she dropped down into the water. 
She sips a cigarette. 

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