Coffee and a Cigarette


I was walking down a cobbled street once and there was an old woman sat outside a café with a coffee and cigarette. Some people went buy jogging and one waved a finger at her disapprovingly.


She hollered, “It’s my only pleasure!” I used to hear my grandmother say the very same words. I can still picture her swigging Benolin from the bottle in the evenings.


One weekend I had a compulsion to paint something quickly; I wanted to start and finish swiftly. I was stroking the cat and having a coffee and put the mug on the coaster which showed a cup of coffee. That was all I needed.