She placed upon the haphazard table a crooked cigarette of hers
Her favorite coffee shop, where precarious people would sit every other windswept day and watch a world – some kind, any kind, really – stroll, fall, so little as simply walk on by
She never, ever sat, of course, forever the settled aside instigated bystander – standing to stare at everyone’s known business
Turn the mirror one – eighty and, seems to be, she was just as much the precarious one right now
Only minus a wicker seat, plus a marvelled at mind to sponge it all up – these mundane, seriously fleeting conversations about to meet their ‘fiction’ – maker via instigator’s written folklore