small glass of brown rum
After she had finished washing up after supper, the old woman went outside to smoke a roll up. Where on earth she acquired the tobacco leaf, I cannot imagine. It had the colour of a three day old cow pat and smelled like rotting hare. To my amazement, I never heard her cough despite her admission that she had begun smoking prior to her teenage years. Her black hair retained its gloss. Her ebony skin was lined, deep creases and their tributaries. One day I summoned up the courage to ask how old she was. She said she had forgotten.