She’s Got Rust

She once had legs, but over time she let herself go. Varicose veins, a deep hacking cough, and stints in rehab for a heroin problem finished off her partying days.
The dream guy she hooked with the help of ZZ Top’s gang of gals had long slipped the line and swam back for deeper waters.
Rags filled her closets.
Still, she kept the car in the driveway. The paint faded, the tires rotted, the engine seized up, and rust spread like brown cancer and covered everything.
Sometimes, she’d go out front and snap her nicotine-stained fingers, wave the keys.
Nothing.