The day always started with a routine. Wake up. Start the coffee machine. Brush teeth. Pluck eyebrows. Do makeup. Pull out hair curlers. Do nails. Get dressed. Drink coffee. Smoke a cigarette. Work.
Diana was always very meticulous with her looks. She spent almost an hour each morning, smearing all types of makeup onto her face, perhaps to make herself appear younger. Perhaps to remind her of the youth she had lost. As she looked at herself in the mirror each day, her heart would sink. Her hair was messy, sticking out in all sorts of directions. The wrinkles around her eyes seemed more pronounced than usual, and she could see a blister beginning to form on her lips. She was old, and she hated it. Her body was the obvious product of a long lifetime with it's sagging breasts, excessive cellulite, and wrinkles galore.
After a long awaited steaming cup of joe, she would make her way to the elevator (trying to ignore the obnoxious sounds of construction from a few floors above) and out the front door of the building. She would light a cigarette, and after a few minutes of hacking and coughing, would call a cab to work.
This wasn't the life that she had originally wanted for herself. After all, who would want to live in a building that was practically falling apart, and work at a beauty shop for a little more than minimum wage. After divorcing her late husband, Diana was left nothing to her name, and she went to live with her baby sister in Collingwood Heights. Luckily for her, Gina, her sister, managed to escape the rundown apartment for some fancy job in a high rise in the city, leaving Diana to herself.
But, she made due with what she had. She worked day time shifts at Betty's Beauty, which wasn't more than a few blocks away, and would do tarot and palm readings in the evenings. Occasionally, she would even baby sit the children that lived in the building.
Life was alright for her, though it was a little to monotonous and humdrum for Diana's liking. She wasn't as active as she used to be, but she still found herself longing for a change in her daily routine. A love affair, a heist, a murder mystery, who knew.
When she was 18, she eloped with her first husband, Eddy. He was that good-for-nothing burnout that her parents warned her about. He was a motorcycler, and she spent most of her late teens and early 20s roaming around the united states on the back of his Harley.
She would occasionally catch herself sighing with nostalgia, longing for the days full of excitement and passion that filled her youth. Though she would never admit it, she wished she could turn back time to live those years again.