This morning the white woman from the bus romance sat across the aisle from me. No longer accompanied by her handsome black man in fluorescent high viz, she’s now left with only the patterns and textures she can carry with her. She takes off her coat and wads it up behind her. She sticks her feet out in the aisle to stretch her legs. She’s wearing fetching black and white lace-up rainboots. She has big hoop earrings and her arms are bare. The thickness of her arms and abdomen offset her long legs and lank hair. She is not bothering with good posture or trying to look cute for anyone. Her deep nasal bray is folded up behind her dark lip stick. She has a double-chin when she looks down at her phone. The light on the bus is ghoulish for her skin tone. I can see the flesh of her face drooping off her cheek bones. This is only unfair if she gives a damn about any of it and–for the moment–she doesn’t seem to.