She had grown fat when she still wore the ring, but it was gone now, leaving a misshapen valley to encircle her finger where it once was.
She smoked, or maybe she only drank a lot of coffee or tea. It was likely cigarettes that yellowed her teeth, though, judging by the grey hair stained yellow around her face where the smoke must have curled from her mouth and nose.
She had a daughter. The younger woman with her looked very much like her. They had the same razor's edge nose.
She worried when she was alone and tried to hide the fact by curling her fingertips in against her palms to hide her ragged cuticles when she handed me her credit card.
My judgments determined nothing for her, but I felt bad, because I shouldn't make her out to be so sad, even if it is only in my imagination. She is as likely to have happiness and a sense of possibility as anyone.
I wonder what she thinks when she looks at me?