The Profiterole Waltz

written by Leah Freiwald

Alice sees no point in spending money on anti-aging creams. “What can they do for me?” she mutters to herself, “Make me look seventy-one instead of seventy-two?” Neither does she believe in tinting her hair. Steel gray, cut short the way she’s had it for the past thirty years, why change? She doesn’t waste time fiddling with her hair. Or her makeup. A dab of cologne is her only splurge.

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