WAVELENGTHS

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It was one of those who look so misplaced on public transport in the daytime, something along the lines of “we’re all walking through the darkness but some of us believe there’s light somewhere, and others don’t.” This creature belonged to the latter. She would have shone like no other on a night bus, the passing shadows of orange streetlights blazing and fading in never-ending rhythms on his face, like wavelengths on a graph when they curve up and down, perpetuating the same motion only each time in a different dress, in a different haircut, in a different pose, eyes that sparkle frighteningly from the cruel white light of a phone, or when they’re caressed by the warm light of the world outside. This creature could be on all night long and no one would feel it strange – the driver would have pleasant company.

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