The old woman said; “I’m gonna smoke, I’ll stand way over there…” unlocked her legs, rose as graceful as a dancer, and moved to a tree overlooking the rather dangerous steps.
Connie had walked up those steps; they were different lengths, sizes, and seemed to be built by one hundred different hands all doing their own thing.
Now the old woman leaned against the tree, looking at those steps, clearly thinking the same thing Connie had.
Connie found the old woman magical, the way she was dressed, the way she moved, and the fact she smoked.
Connie wanted to talk to the woman, searched for something to say.