Blowing my nose.
I sat on a 6 train subway bench at an especially chilly nine o'clock in the morning, dissolving into Lolita. My body was dehydrated and shivering, my hair was all about me, I was devastatingly without make-up, and subconsciously sniffling. When all of a sudden, a perfectly pitched coo came from the woman next to me. She was older than I, but young in a perfectly purple coat with perfectly blond hair, a clear complexion and the straightest teeth(I daresay straighter than yours, my pet). Her offer, in a matching purple plastic pack, was a Kleenex. I had bagel shop napkins in my purse, but I hadn't even regarded the fact that there was something trying to escape my nose and I had been daintily calling it back for a good ten minutes. And besides, her tissues were big and pillowy. I gladly pulled one from the open pack and threw her an awkward 'thank you' with it's complementary awkward smile. "Sorry," she chimed, "it's the mother in me." She then took out a vial of lotion and worked it into her manicured nails. Without thinking, I too took out my lotion and began to smear it across my knuckles. My fingers next to hers were intolerable; unworthy of any woman, I thought. And there was our train.
I finished my olfactory exile on the bench and watched her step up in front of me. I inspected the back of her, from bright blond head to disappointing black athletic sneakers. God, that coat was perfect. It seemed tailor-made for her body. Everyone in New York has coats that look tailor-made. I stole another innocent glance on the train, which she only rode for one stop. She was so fortunate to look as she did, I thought. She is probably also wealthy, uptight, and prudish. But thank you for the Kleenex.
Alethea.