The prettiest girl in the world...

...takes the 9.58 Thane Slow each morning. She climbs in seven stops after me and I make sure I am awake to see this always. Her eyes are like water and if you lean closer, like me in the crowd, you will see they hold the ocean. Inky waves grow and grow into shimmering ghosts before they break against the insides of her head. You can trace her movement through the compartment by the way the crowd parts ever so slightly. This is the ladies compartment of the CST Slow, not much known for its give, but when she surges forward, even savages grow delicate and allow her to bear down on them. The ends of her hair , they briefly graze my arm as she goes by, 'no don't do it', I will her 'please'. But she opens her lovely, terrible mouth and the beast comes barreling forth. Ugly ugly pretty girl! Your beauty turns cold like tea on a winter morning; no longer vivifying, just deeply and solidly depressing. Gestures like spiked punches and sprays of spittle, how quickly your perfectness has turned obscene. Your skin bubbles thickly underneath and your hair's a flaccid mass of filthy slugs. Your coarseness hurts. Such unforgivable deception. You are like everything else in this life ‐ ephemeral, ruinable and ruined. I will wait for you everyday.