At the Intersection

At the intersection with the sedan window open, she looks at her hand that has several large fantastic rings. Sitting at the light, she looks at her dazzling french nails. She turns her hand that I can see this way, and then that, feeling a kind of poetry. She loves looking at her luxuriously pampered hands, sleek and soft, like they are moving underwater -- like a scattering of doubloons on white aquatic sand. Near a wrecked ship full of dead men. The light turns green.


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Pacific Coast Highway
Newport Beach