Her tousled blonde hair and white Beats headphones frame her long, pale, white face. White except, that is, for the scarlet lipstick painted oh-so-carefully on her full, pursed lips. Her eyes – huge – are something like all white, except for the hazel irises and tiny pupils occupying the very center. She tweezes, shapes, her eyebrows, whose blackness tells a different story than the disheveled, wispy mop held down by her Beats.

I can’t tell anything about her body from where I sit. But I can see, through the matching knee holes in her black jeans, that she wears black cotton tights. And at her ankles, I see just a hint of the black-and-white speckled thick socks in her black leather Doc Martens.

I imagine she’s listening to the same podcast I am.

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