Every woman has a story, they say, of adventure and intrigue.
This is the tale of one woman who had not only one such story, but she lived these stories every day.
Her favorite time of year was Mardi Gras; she wouldn’t consider it complete without at least one stabbing. It builds character, it’s part of the parade, she would say.
She took her drinking as seriously as she took life, enjoying every salty-sweet drop and swirling the last bits with a tangy green olive or licking the salt from the rim.
She had the best of vices: drinking, smoking, swearing, dancing, men in uniform.
And she was sincere and honest and never left anything for tomorrow knowing that for her, having no tomorrow was more real than it was to anybody else.
She never let anyone tell her what to do, and when she was told that death was imminent, she went on vacation to Italy. By herself.
Because that was who she was. She wasn’t going to let something trivial like cancer get in the way of her life. And she never did.
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