After the kids got on the bus to day camp, and her husband left for work, Dolores dropped her ratty housecoat and stood in the kitchen, naked. From the spice cupboard, she took out the crumpled back of cigarettes and book of matches and walked into the backyard, the grass still wet.
She smoked and felt the morning sun on her body.
She buried the butt in the flower garden, beside the azaleas that refused to bud this year.
Dolores knew the neighbour was watching her. He did every morning. She smiled to herself and walked back into the house.