Thursday, 14 March 2013

The scary Punk

for a long period the bus station was also the starting point for a young lady who at least stylistically was a punk.  With artistically arranged hair, tartan trousers with the requisite pins and dangling bit void of functions.  I presumed she was an art student (due to the large portfolio bag she regularly carried and the terminus of the route leading to a city with such educational establishments).

We never spoke, she appeared to be apart from the conversational net as she had other ways of passing the time.  And every day she was with us on the bus she scared me silly.

Now you are wondering if I have a fear of the different, or a stereotypical view of punks! No I have a fear of things being poked into eyes.  I can't watch medical programs about eyes they make me cringe. What has that to do with Punk Girl?  Well every morning she would work on her make up at the bus stop, no problem there, well except it takes a lot of black eye liner and mascara to create the punk eyes she wanted.  There was never enough time to do that justice before the bus arrived, so the application continued on the bus.  Each time we swayed round a corner, stopped or started away with a jerk I sat in horrified expectation that pencil or brush was going to poke her in the eye.  No matter that she had avoided such an injury for months my trepidation never did diminish.  I hope she obtained whatever she was studying , if indeed she was however, I was much relieved once she flew away and I could stop worrying.