Each time she took a sip of her small glass of whiskey, she resembled Clint Eastwood, her eyes narrowing to slits, her thoughts apparently engaged in distant conjecture.
Also, she had a beard and smoked a cigar.
Each time she took a sip of her small glass of whiskey, she resembled Clint Eastwood, her eyes narrowing to slits, her thoughts apparently engaged in distant conjecture.
Also, she had a beard and smoked a cigar.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 
I have just decided that Non Sequitur flash fiction is my new favourite genre. 😂
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