She walked on to the tram in plimsoles, faded jeans and a peacoat jacket. She sat down on a single seat, facing the opposite direction from the one the tram was travelling to. It was the last seat in that column of seats; she could only sit on the last single seat facing the opposite direction.
She sat with her legs crossed, she has bow-shaped legs, so she is not comfortable when her legs are not crossed. Or perhaps she feels more put together, more tied up and thus less likely to fall apart. She did not move.
She did not move for the whole ride, except for a few flickers of the eyes when an unwanted thought crossed her mind. Every few minutes she would look down at her iPod to check the name of the song playing. She never changed the song. It was probably a force of habit.
In her hands she held her iPod, her phone and her tram card. She clutched them all tightly, the iPod on top, phone in the middle and her tram card on the bottom. Routine. A loud beep signalled she received a text message; she looked down to see the flashing light but did not check the message.
She was not ugly. She was beautiful, made so by a thin layer of makeup that made her lips a little bit more red, a little bit more shapely; and her eyes a little bit wider and elegantly shaped, and her cheekbones a little higher and a little more defined. Made so by careful blow drying and straightening of hair. In reality, the tip of her nose was a little too round, and her cheeks were a little too chubby, and her eyes a little too set-in.
She was not beautiful, but it was difficult to picture a man who didn't know her who would say he wouldn't fuck her. In other words, she was probably much uglier in personality than in looks. Or perhaps not.
She did not look up, but at her stop she stood up and quietly walked out of the tram, simultaneously putting away the phone in one pocket, and the iPod in the other, to balance out the weight. The card she kept in her hand. She would have probably broken had she moved any more.
www.twitter.com/indiscreetkid
www.formspring.me/indiscreetkid
She sat with her legs crossed, she has bow-shaped legs, so she is not comfortable when her legs are not crossed. Or perhaps she feels more put together, more tied up and thus less likely to fall apart. She did not move.
She did not move for the whole ride, except for a few flickers of the eyes when an unwanted thought crossed her mind. Every few minutes she would look down at her iPod to check the name of the song playing. She never changed the song. It was probably a force of habit.
In her hands she held her iPod, her phone and her tram card. She clutched them all tightly, the iPod on top, phone in the middle and her tram card on the bottom. Routine. A loud beep signalled she received a text message; she looked down to see the flashing light but did not check the message.
She was not ugly. She was beautiful, made so by a thin layer of makeup that made her lips a little bit more red, a little bit more shapely; and her eyes a little bit wider and elegantly shaped, and her cheekbones a little higher and a little more defined. Made so by careful blow drying and straightening of hair. In reality, the tip of her nose was a little too round, and her cheeks were a little too chubby, and her eyes a little too set-in.
She was not beautiful, but it was difficult to picture a man who didn't know her who would say he wouldn't fuck her. In other words, she was probably much uglier in personality than in looks. Or perhaps not.
She did not look up, but at her stop she stood up and quietly walked out of the tram, simultaneously putting away the phone in one pocket, and the iPod in the other, to balance out the weight. The card she kept in her hand. She would have probably broken had she moved any more.
www.twitter.com/indiscreetkid
www.formspring.me/indiscreetkid
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