She wrapped a melancholic curl around one index finger. Flicked at the ash on the table with the other. Drank the cold half-inch of coffee remaining in the cup before her. Folded the empty pack of cigarettes over. Left side to right, then bottom to top.
Decided she was tired of his ghost stories.
A crow landed on the power lines on the other side of the laneway and cawed.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve made up my mind.”
The bird shrugged and picked at something under its wing. The budding branches of the immature maple shivered in the wind.