Geneva is full of them

Your whole face had dropped under the pull of frustration. Eyes judgemental. Lips thin. Jaw heavy. Years of comfort had shrivelled your thoughts. Years of convenient indolence had twisted your fate. Nourished mediocrity. The lack of life was pouring out of you.

Silk scarf. Little black bag hanging off your frail wrist. Neat navy-blue shoes. Skin-coloured stockings. Expensive black leather gloves. You had everything outside. Inside, there was hardly anything left to see. And what remained was so crumpled and wrinkled that nothing could have evened out the creases.