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She sat with grace, poise and disdain; horrified to be
travelling with the great unwashed, she was so much better than that. She
stared out of the window as if not seeing her fellow passengers, would allow
her not to be seen. She had a pianist's posture, all straight lines and angles.
Her skin so perfect she could have been Lloyd Cole's muse, her hair so blonde
it was touched by sunshine and her breasts were the dictionary definition of
perky. She tore her attention away from the outside world and looked down at
her expensive nails, inspecting the paintwork, tilting her middle finger to see
the shade in different light. Was she impressed? it was difficult to say; her
beauty competed with her indignation for attention. She was the sun and the
rain, clear blue sky and heavy black clouds, a smile would surely bring
sunshine but her scowl cast shadows and had us ducking for cover. Then she was
gone, with a huff and a puff and a blow of her dainty cheeks, she stood up and
left the tram - taking the weather with her.
You could tell he didn’t suffer fools gladly and you could
tell that he thought his two colleagues were quite simply fools. He dressed
like a teacher and frowned like one too. But he held himself like a
businessman, a man not to be messed with. He had greying hair, a big forehead
and unruly stubble. His eyes were like slot machine slots. He put his hand
across those eyes and squeezed his temples like a thunderstorm was crashing
through his brain. He peered at his colleagues through the gaps in his fingers;
they were talking but he was treating their words with the contempt they
deserved. He let them finish and then launched his attack. His voice was terse,
tense, like hail rattling against a window. His hand didn’t move from his face
as he delivered his damning verdict. His two colleagues sat silently, their
heads bowed as if sheltering from the downpour. The words lashed down as the
storm swirled but eventually the rain eased, petering out. Then he was gone,
with a huff and a puff and a blow of his stubbly cheeks, he stood up and left
the café - taking the weather with
him.
"She had a pianist's posture, all straight lines and angles. Her skin so perfect she could have been Lloyd Cole's muse
ReplyDelete, her hair so blonde it was touched by sunshine and her breasts were the dictionary definition of perky.... His voice was terse, tense, like hail rattling against a window. His hand didn’t move from his face as he delivered his damning verdict. His two colleagues sat silently, their heads bowed as if sheltering from the downpour. The words lashed down as the storm swirled but eventually the rain eased, petering out."
"She was the sun and the rain, clear blue sky and heavy black clouds, a smile would surely bring sunshine but her scowl cast shadows and had us ducking for cover. Then she was gone, with a huff and a puff and a blow of her dainty cheeks, she stood up and left the tram - taking the weather with her."
ReplyDelete