She comes running on to the metro platform as if from nowhere, aware of the movie-like quality of her entrance. Her hair is brown and long, with front bangs carefully blow-dried in a wave to one side, in a cascading counterpoint to her artificially-straightened mane. The oversized black fur coat and tight black skirt with a slit down the back are the amalgamations of the many magazines she’s read.
As she comes to a halt, my eyes scan her perpendicularly, down the artificially broad shoulders to the deliberately provocative opening, down the smoothly glossened legs to the vertiginious high-heels on which she is perched. Black and hard, the tip of the heels are improbable metal balls, rendering the shoes both incredibly fashionable and highly unstable. I detect the quivering in her calf muscles, the uncertain tottering of her ankles as they strain to maintain her immaculately turned-out self in place above them.
She turns, and I glimpse her face, a face of remarkable freshness, the innocence of a child-woman ; and then she bites her lip, betraying in one gesture the gap between her self and her elaborate facade.
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