Smoke and swagger

On the day:
15/05/2012


On the way:
She stands with a flabby kind of swagger, her cigarette smoking with vigour. 
Her black hoodie, which proclaims her allegiance to a C-list brand of trainer, is worn defiantly - not menacingly over the edge of the brow, not reclusively over the eyes, not practically onto her forehead, but defiantly halfway across the top of her head and pulled down taut. 
A bus stops and another girl jumps off, more compact, wearing close-fitting jeans rather than loose tracky bottoms, but cut from the same cloth. 
She barks a challenge. Pleasantries are exchanged in short words. Will fisticuffs be forthcoming? 
No, they're just chatting, catching up on the news, sharing fresh outrages, bobbing in a dance, revelling in the vivid threads of life's rich tapestry. 
The larger girl leans forward, towards the bin, balanced on one leg, the other rising behind, smoke billowing from exhalation, and spits, or more accurately lets fall, a satisfying gobbet of saliva, onto the pavement, and thus relieved, resumes her stance satisfied. All is well with the world. 


On the pod: 
Nth Degree - Morningwood 


On the front page: 
Diagnosed with being lovestruck died of TB (Metro)