I got off first.
There’s a woman with Corey Haim hair on the 68.
Lost Boys hair.
Hair that’s brushed up to the sun.
Listening to headphones covered in foam. I look for signs of a Walkman. (This is London.)
I imagine a wacky shirt and garlic necklace underneath.
A burst of back and forth head nodding, then a left to right ‘nuh-uh muthafucka’ shake.
She’s sat at the front, looking out the window, owning the world.
I wonder if she likes comics.