People, some of whom were on the bus yesterday

[squirmelia]

She closes her eyes more than most people and even her blinking is somehow more deep. She's scared that in the final moments all she'll see is soil, as if she were a daffodil bulb, but she won't be able to smell it. She underestimates the impact that her sister's sunglasses will have on her life. She cannot remember the last time she used a postbox and hopes they still work in the same way they used to. Her mood fluctuates between being vacant and being self-assured. She's unconcerned about what will happen and doesn't even know where to get off the bus. She tries to untangle her hair with her fingers and regrets wearing it in a ponytail. She wonders if there are flies in her gum from when she last opened her mouth. She thinks that everyone looks at her legs as if they were the only legs they'd ever seen and wonders if she has pigeon ankles. She thinks that the bad bleach job might detract from the expression on her face which gives away that she might be unhappy. She doesn't expect the child in front of her to stop moving, abruptly.