Whites of Their Eyes
The man putting on weight in the corner with his financial paper has an admirably pasty complexion. He's pale, baby powdery, pale PowerPoint blue.
Me, my skin from the inside lights up red, reveals my position to cool wenches. I try to unfluster, read backwards, think of anything, think of China down there, make it go away, put down my insurrection, imagine us all naked, but it's my skin I'm aware of. Don't look up.
I look up, they look down.
The man walking outside, she must have knitted him that hat, fluffy pastels, but she's there so he's under it, a miraculous grim white.
Me, I do my best scarlet goblin, and still they won't scare off. I'm all amusement. They make me breathe big full lungs brushing past.