The Iron Nail

Each suspended a worn and dirt-caked glass milk bottle that had clearly seen better days. Driven into the trunk of each one was a heavy looking iron nail. In each I could also see a small photograph, half buried in dirt or almost boiled clean. On the bottom of each was tied a lot of hair. It was long and grey in poor condition and I reckon it must have belonged to the woman in the photograph. She stared out disapprovingly from every bottle.

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