She lit vapor on fire.

Listen; Saeglopur, Sigur Rós

Upon the porch she perched and craned her neck like a bird. Here the wind sang. It brought snow on its wings. She cooed hoarsely in concurrence as smoke straggled from her cusped lips. Her defined digits clutched the rusted bar like a branch and she swung her legs between their stalks like a child in a tree. The flavor of tobacco ripened her fingertips and rotting metal colored her opposing hand. An ordinary Thursday turned epic when she savored the day by scorching the sky with her iron battle cry.