Making Up On the Central Line

Every Friday. As if by clockwork. She sits across me. Eastbound Central Line. She sits across me. With her pretty face. Nice hair. She sits across from me. She's gorgeous. She looks fresh. She sits across from me. She sits across from me. I steal another glance. I think she saw me.

Damn Farra for making me go for a few drinks at the pub. The Tiger beer is making me wanna say something. Oh no. She's getting out her make-up bag. Not again.

East Acton. My batteries have run out. These huge headphones. OK, i don't have my Metro anymore but I'll pretend the music is still on. This huge headphones. They cost £60. Am I an audiophile or just plain weird. Oh lets settle that some other time. She sits across from me. With her still pretty face. With her makeup bag.

She's got some powder or the other. She doing her cheeks. I'm looking. I wanna say something. But I didn't have enough beer. If I want to tell her she looks perfect. Please stop. Enough. She powdering. She doing her eyes now.
Blue. Grrr.. why? Why God why? Stop. She's still pretty though. My beautiful cygnet. She's changing though.

Splat! Spread, spread. Splat. She's transforming. She's changing. She sits across from me.

White City. The coach is getting quieter. Everyone's saying the same thing. I'm about to go underground, will talk to you later. She's still turning. More makeup. She's doing her lips. Red. I'm an 80's child but I grew up in the 90's. Red lips is not on. She's changing. I don't like her anymore.

This Tiger beer. Maybe next time Farra will say, lets have 2 drinks. Then I will say to my Ugly Duck. Please don't take out the make-up bag. You're pretty as you are. Stop.

Stop. Just sit across from me and be pretty.