Death and Taxes

If you're lookin' for trouble, well Mister, you've found it.

Under a streetlamp, just visible in the murky fog, you see her:  long coat pulled close around her chest, collar flicked up and hat pulled low.  She leans against the post as if she owns the thing.  A cold wind stings your face, and as you move closer, you watch her lift a cigarette to her lips and exhale the twisting tendrils of smoke.

She doesn't even look up when you reach her.  "Is it done?" you ask.  "Did you do it?"

Of course, she breathes, as smoke curls out from between her lips.  She looks up finally and her eyes meet yours, steely and guarded.  It was my first time - she takes another drag - but I think I did alright.  It wasn't exactly enjoyable for me, but it'll be worth it for the money I'll get in return.

You swallow nervously.  "Well it wouldn't be fun if you were late.  I worry about you sometimes, Tracy."

The woman laughs softly, pulls her coat tighter to her.  Don't worry so much.  They're only taxes.

Before she even finishes speaking she's already looked away, stepping out of the streetlamp's glow dismissively, off to do...who knows what.  Alphabetize her bookshelves?  Clean out her refrigerator?  Maybe change the oil in her car.  Her heels clack on the cobblestone as she slinks into the fog, hips rolling from side to side and cigarette smoke trailing behind her.

As you watch her go, you think, What a woman. 

Well, that's just who I am.  A woman of the night.  Putting the XXX back in taXXXes.

Image via Classic Movies Digest.

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