Angel

A Miss-Jean-Brodie, in a prim sweater and 50s style skirt (a non-flamboyant one - not tight, not too flared, mid-calf, grey), black tights and court shoes. Long dark hair is parted in the middle and drawn loosely back from her face into a bun at the back in such a way as to cover her ears on both sides.

She was bending over her bag in the street, saying to her companion, "...it really is very infuriating..." When she stood back up she was 6 feet tall with a heavily powdered complexion and thin red lips. Her waist was drawn in to an unnaturally thin 18inches by a corset that was just visible beneath her sweater (disarray left from bending over in such a manner) - black leather like a belt, laced. A 6 foot hour glass. The ideal 50s figure. Restrictive. Upright.

It was only then that I paused to think whether this was a woman after all. Still wasn't certain after they disappeared into a bus.


Kings Cross

The drunks are collapsed in a doorway, wetness all around them. Unsure whether it was water, spilled beer, or what. Three filthy men who look as if they've been rolled around in dust. Two women in brighter summer clothes, but scabby - one on the bridge of her nose, the other on her cheek. One of the men and one of the women are a couple, they are slouched together on a step their special brew between their legs, a hand of ownership on each other's leg.