Acrylic Powder

Filled my nose as I sneezed myself awake. The low buzz of the nail drills had lulled me to sleep. There was a woman in the corner quietly weeping through her story. The compassionate face of her nail lady told the story inaudible to my ears. Her worn voice competed with the noise of the salon, and I could only make out scattered words of recent loss. She shook her head as tears ran through the delicately etched lines on her face. The nail lady grasped her hands and shared her own story of pain and her current fight. They were forever bonded; sisters of survival. With a final burst from the little fan dancing away on her station, her nails were dry and her session had finished.