Layers
Layers. You look at someone and you see their wavy hair catching that blowing breeze, their hands folding up a newspaper, that necklace bearing their zodiac sign, their skin colour, the way their eyes shift focus from one object to the next on the underground, or their choice of clothing that morning. And you craft a tale. She's borderline 30's...quite beautiful, but then again with that expensive suit you assume she makes enough to maintain her beauty. That glint of a tan must mean she's just returning from a nice holiday where she was sprawled on sandy shores basking in the sun and relishing in its goodness...afforded by her hefty salary, of course. Yes, she must have been dealt the good hand while others like me have to grind their way through life only to earn a miserly third of what she has in life. Ah well, you think to yourself as you get off at your stop, a girl can dream of making it in life someday... Layers. She straightens her pantsuit and purses her lips as sh...