miss independent
today, a girl pushed in front of me when getting off the train.
she walked up the stairs a little before me, since she'd pushed in front of me.
she was short, perhaps indian. fine cheekbones and clear skin. long, straight black hair violated on the ends by orange-red hair dye. pulled back tightly in a neat, perky bun. she wore a figure-hugging black pinstripe suit, which accentuated her small waist and shapely hips. pink, shiny beads dropped from her earlobes and, with the hint of surprise that accompanies eclectic elements, a bright sky-blue astroboy bag dropped from her padded, tailored shoulder.
i noticed all this detail because she led the way down to the traffic lights and, after lighting up a cigarette with one hand--a business-like, snappy movement--and thumping the round silver button impatiently with the other, she pushed in front of me again on the other side of the road.
i had to walk extra slow to avoid the cloud of pernicious grey smoke that flared up around her pretty head rhythmically. inhale. exhale. keeping a few metres back, i heard square-toed enclosed feet walked, almost stomped, atop chunky black heels. i tried to decipher confidence from determination from insecurites masked by confidence and determination. she was very small, but very forceful in her movements. as if going somewhere. by a certain time. on the dot.
despite her fiery, get-out-of-my-way, i'm-going-to-push-in-front-of-you-and-pretend-i-don't-see-you exterior, she was not fully certain that she wanted to push in front and pretend she didn't see. the way she placed her hand upon the bag that sat upon her hip...carefully, arm slightly tensed, unmoving. like she was guarding secrets and half-truths bequeathed to astroboy alone.
i looked up at the sky above me. she looked at the ground in front of her.
i breathed deeply air scented with the winding down of the end of a long day. she stabbed her lungs every time she inhaled.
she was probably a few years older than me, but she seemed young.
i walk lazily, letting my red and white spotted thongs wear away by scraping the gravel. not shuffling, but not lifting my feet.
she disappeared around a bend and out of my sight, and she became a past tense. a 'she was'. a 'she had'. she exists like an extra in my movie. appears briefly in a few frames but travels outside of the range of my camera. to be edited out at a later date.
the whole world's a stage?
she walked up the stairs a little before me, since she'd pushed in front of me.
she was short, perhaps indian. fine cheekbones and clear skin. long, straight black hair violated on the ends by orange-red hair dye. pulled back tightly in a neat, perky bun. she wore a figure-hugging black pinstripe suit, which accentuated her small waist and shapely hips. pink, shiny beads dropped from her earlobes and, with the hint of surprise that accompanies eclectic elements, a bright sky-blue astroboy bag dropped from her padded, tailored shoulder.
i noticed all this detail because she led the way down to the traffic lights and, after lighting up a cigarette with one hand--a business-like, snappy movement--and thumping the round silver button impatiently with the other, she pushed in front of me again on the other side of the road.
i had to walk extra slow to avoid the cloud of pernicious grey smoke that flared up around her pretty head rhythmically. inhale. exhale. keeping a few metres back, i heard square-toed enclosed feet walked, almost stomped, atop chunky black heels. i tried to decipher confidence from determination from insecurites masked by confidence and determination. she was very small, but very forceful in her movements. as if going somewhere. by a certain time. on the dot.
despite her fiery, get-out-of-my-way, i'm-going-to-push-in-front-of-you-and-pretend-i-don't-see-you exterior, she was not fully certain that she wanted to push in front and pretend she didn't see. the way she placed her hand upon the bag that sat upon her hip...carefully, arm slightly tensed, unmoving. like she was guarding secrets and half-truths bequeathed to astroboy alone.
i looked up at the sky above me. she looked at the ground in front of her.
i breathed deeply air scented with the winding down of the end of a long day. she stabbed her lungs every time she inhaled.
she was probably a few years older than me, but she seemed young.
i walk lazily, letting my red and white spotted thongs wear away by scraping the gravel. not shuffling, but not lifting my feet.
she disappeared around a bend and out of my sight, and she became a past tense. a 'she was'. a 'she had'. she exists like an extra in my movie. appears briefly in a few frames but travels outside of the range of my camera. to be edited out at a later date.
the whole world's a stage?
painted pretty by alix @ 5:39 PM
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