She wears a khaki green coat and hair the color of that purple dinosaur I loathed so much as a child, before I understood the meaning of the word.
She’s reading a comic, er, graphic novel. As I stand above her, I cannot help but try to follow along, upside down, hoping to finish the page before she flips.
I feel she’s older than acceptable for purple locks, but there’s something about her that I like.
Then she turns the page. I catch a glimpse of the rock on her finger. Well then, someone else likes her too. A lot.
Writing in Transit is a recurring series of 100-word stories based on my experiences on the subway. Posted on Fridays, they’re exactly 100 words. I double checked.