sheets

Everything about her is white. Her skin, jeans, the flash of her lace thong,the snake skin boots, the sleeveless t-shirt that revealed a milky cleavage in the front, and a white bra in the back. Even her hair was a bleached blonde that shone white in the sun. He feels a stiffening and is grateful for his long black coat. He watches fascinated as she collects her ticket and walks towards him, long limbed and elegantly clumsy. He stands up and offers her his seat. She ignores him and moves to the back where he realises there are plenty of places. Wilting, he sits back down next to his mother. Brown, dour and smelling of the kitchen sink, her bra is a non-colour, held together by safety pins and a miracle. He looks out of the window, ignoring her smirking eyes that have seen everything, hating that she knows she will have wash the sheets tomorrow.

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