Sunday, March 3, 2013

The girl and her partner were sitting in the early morning sun outside the bakery. Both had the glazed look of a drunk, sharing a word from time to time not with a twist of the head but with a slow lean from the waist.

She cradled a sleeping child in her arms. The left hand with which she supported her daughter’s frail head also clasped a small glass of beer and (as if to complete the balancing act) between the fingers of the same hand she pinched a dying cigarette.

Breakfast of Champions.

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