the first story about hair.there is a woman who rides the #2 in the mornings. i only have to share the bus with her if i am running late for work & the more i think about her the more willing i am to be early for work. she sits in one of the back seats & obsessively brushes her hair, which is shoulder-length & blonde & fine. occasionally she will stop brushing her hair & apply lipstick, which is not the same shade every day but which is usually too gaudy for her pale papery skin.
anyway she really jerks the brush through her hair & so it (the brush) is constantly full of it (her hair) so that it (the brush) becomes this exaggerated construct of offal. it drives home the point that hygienic acts, while important to social interaction, should be themselves kept private. this morning she dropped the brush & it went rolling under two seats before it hit something & stopped. this person had to pick it up & hand it to her. she went right back to her seat & continued brushing.
she brushes more on the right side of her head than on the left.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:the second story about hair.
on the bus on the way home i was resting my hand on the back of the seat in front of me. also i was staring out the window.
because of the staring, i didn't notice when someone sat down in the seat in front of me. but her hair came down just long enough to graze my fingers where they rested.
i could tell that she didn't notice that this was going on. i was so intrigued at the touch-interaction that i didn't move my hand until after she got off the bus. i sat there feeling a little decadent & quite deviant, getting this little rush from feeling a stranger's hair against my hand.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i just realized both my stories are not only about hair. they are also about public transportation.
