A blonde woman sitting on a brick ledge
Is throwing her hands, calloused and raw

The hands of an aging artist

Into seamlessly meshed gestures
Grand but sometimes ridiculous motions

To narrate a story for an amused spectator

She lives for the smiles of her listeners
But lives off the change they drop in her cup

With a bright smile that’s secretly melancholy

Due to the choice she made; to live a free, happy life
Without the burdens of disappointed onlookers

Completely alone