Friday, 12 February 2010

Cynical Train Ride

I caught a view of all these people on a single trip to Clacton via train.

The first striking women I saw had a strange complexion, appearing coloured by repetive slaps and punches to her face, her hair was white, really white. Chubby little hands grasped her Motorola as she raised it to her particularly large lobed ear, a butch, female P.E teachers voice bellowed out, sending vibrations through a meaty deposit that hung from the base of her face, this merged severely unseamlessly with a dense and chunky neck. This in turn connected to block like shoulders, a black felt likely material attempted to cover these long ,spirit level flat, wonders. Black i'm told is thinning, but when tights fail to cover fat that collects around the top of some not particularly tight fitting shoes, you have a problem. The next lady looked worse. Like the plain of her face had hit a wall with quite an impact and the features had remained in the state of compression. If a propped melon could look shocked, I'd found proof. Her lips when clasps seem to repel even each other, rolling back on themselves to give the illusion of them being thin. The eyes were inset, cowering away, with the sockets forming a shadow casting ring around them, the skin draped in, like a gravity in side her head had drawn them in over her obviously exstensive life. Her hair was weird, imagine a layered fountain, but water replaced with horrible, knock off golden, thin and comb streak visible hair. The path of it seemed to abseil down the back of her hair finally reaching a darker hanging patch of lifeless knots. A small child was trying to balance a fruit shoot on his head, I was not amused. Out of knowhere a massive egg shell disguised in a jacket turned around, wispy white hair topped his ears eyes and lip. The egg head was so big, it had smaller dome like eggs deposited around, side of nose, top right of mouth and side of for head. He seemed confused, his hands moving frantically as his weighty yolk brain try to process where on the train-line he were. I didn't like his shoes. A chav got on, his greyscale apparell complemented his shiny silver Nike shoes perfectly. His hood jutted forward, casting a shadow over his typical face. A young looking, blood shot eyed, thin lipped, above averagely spotty youth stared back. He yawned lots as he peered aggressively out the window, he sat by himself for the remainder of the journey, he's not loved, you can see this by how low his trackies hung on his ass. I turned to see the second lady pop a travell sweet into her mouth, I watched her boney chin ossilate from side to side, small deposits of skin wiggled slightly at each side under the mouth, in time she swallowed, her throat burst forward, like an agressive frog to accomadate the small sweet passing through. She touched then rubbed her neck with her chipped pink nail varnished fingers, there appeared to be pain all round as she rubbed her strained neck and my brain processed what I had just seen. We arrive. I stand up and collect my bag from the overhead shelves, a young girl claims to her friends, "it's rude to stare", I couldn't help thinking, it's also rude to grin in such an exaggerated manor when the only colours on your teeth are yellow overlaid with mettalic shine.

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