[an eccentric woman running to catch the bus]

The bus had just made a temporary stop when P noticed her.

'What the hell is in her mouth?' P thought, chastising herself for noticing. A woman, swathed in a royal shade of burgundy faux velvet, was hurriedly making her way towards the bus stop. She wore tinted moon-shaped glasses that sat perched on her prominent nose. Her face was deeply wrinkled, the white powder of her foundation sitting comfortably in the crevices of her face, periodically unsettled by the enthusiasm with which she was chewing a piece of gum. A long, sea-green tartan lay draped across her left shoulder, matching the extravagant head scarf that devoured her head.

The twin lunar spheres that peered out from within the mass of colourful cloth caught sight of the bus, temporarily stationed at its stop. She hastily quickened her pace, spurred on by the prospect of having to wait another ten minutes under the hot November sun. Her ample hips pounded from side to side as her pace peaked towards an awkward staccato. Half run, half walk, her hips continued to pound left and right, left and right. She raised her arms in the air and started to wave in the general direction of the driver. Everything about the way she existed in that moment screamed 'WAIT FOR ME.' 

Arms waving in the air, bathed in a purple head scarf that consumed half her head she should have made the most entertaining sight. But P didn't notice any of that. All she could do was zero in on the woman's mouth. The chewing, the chewing.