Mrs. Bruce Wayne's Story

Mrs. Bruce Wayne stood outside the entrance to the bar, so close to the door that her nose practically touched it. Her hands clutched the handle of an umbrella to the side of her chest, tucked slightly underneath her right arm, against the strap of her massively oversized white leather bag. brown eyelids seemed to contain, inhibit brillantly green irises from exhibiting their full lustre, a vague expression on the rest of her face. She was rooted, her massive curly mane shifting only slightly with any moving air, especially spongy due to the humidity, her tanned trenchcoat also mildly dewy, and her wellies, somehow, remaining stark white after having taken quite a few steps in the rain.