Georgia

The woman's middle aged figure was slim and shapeless. Her face had those down-turned, droopy eyes that look cute on your neighbour's dog. Gravity wasn't doing much for the rest of her face either and it looked like it was slowly sliding to the ground. She couldn't sit still, constantly fidgeting, shifting her weight side to side, forwards and backwards, running her hands through her hair that looked as though it'd been styled that way for the last 20 years. She put a small case on her lap, unzipped it and rearranged it's contents: bags, tubes, pots of creams and moisturisers, stuff to hold back the galloping years. Reassured by her box of youth she zipped it back up, tucked it safely under her seat, stretched back like a cat wanting its tummy tickled, then zipped up her eggshell-blue, towelling tracksuit top against the cold, yawning. I had the urge to really slap her.

Easter 07