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Showing posts from October, 2016

Pursed lips

"I'm so sorry", I half-whispered to the lady on the underground train whom I'd pushed involuntarily. She gave me a blank stare and her lips pursed tightly. Those lips of hers looked as if they were about to give birth to a smile but then they miscarried or, rather, aborted it. The crescent crease that had replaced her mouth was a smile turned upside-down. "I said, I'm sorry", I insisted as the receding rumble of the train announced the next stop. "This is Charing Cross", the dulcet female tones of the recording reassured us. The lady's pointed white collar stuck into her beige blazer like the sharp fangs of a vampire. I wondered what was on her mind. Did her husband neglect to give her a kiss in the morning? Did she have a husband? Did her two-year-old smash the plate with broccoli against the kitchen wall last night? Or did her two-year-old only exist in her head? She inhaled quickly and audibly through her clenched lipstick-stained teet