The old lady and the red coat

No need to see her face to read her soul, the red of her velvet coat reflected it all. No one belongs to this alley more than she does. She espouses the ancient Canal of Paris street’s as the kingdom of her great age. Her grace stroke me far from across the street, I couldn’t put my eyes away from this shattered mysterious allure. The juvenile flowers of her dress impelled me to follow her, and as I was stepping in her pink shadows, I stopped suddenly, breathing the essence of her history surrounding me and forever trapped in the polaroid of my mind.

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