Cosmetics of the Underground

Inspired by actual events on the subway.

She was on the older side. Somewhere in between the point where collagen fails your face and where vital organs fail your constitution. And while the laugh lines on her face were past the point of no return, she sat there on the subway, steadfastly applying eyeliner. Liquid eyeliner, on a moving train. And it was black. It was a bold move. It was flawless.

Goddamnit, I can’t even apply chapstick when we’re at a standstill “waiting for arriving passengers on a connecting train”. Accepting the fact that she’s probably had decades of practice, I still stare, envious.

She moves on to the lipliner. Lipliner. She’s just asking for trouble, she really is.

I never wear lipliner. I suppose she feels it necessary as the wrinkles under her nose spill over to her mouth, but still. A few quick swipes, and she’s done. She tempted fate and won.

I want to go over and shake her hand, but it’s in desperate need of some Jergens.

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