The woman next to
Madison was reading Internal Auditor Magazine. The feminine navy pant suit with bright pink tee shirt was out of place among the other Midwestern passangers. Her rubber-soled navy loafers were a testament to her practical career choice as a CPA or actuary. Accounting wasn’t sexy and no amount of lipgloss or inches of patent leather stiletto would change this fact.
Madison glanced down at her own attire and smirked. Her V-neck sweater, torn Gap jeans and black ballet flats did little to convey her personality or career choice—college student or Wall Street consultant. The ink stains on her finger tips, oversized sketchpad, and traincase full of art supplies rather than toiletries belied the truth. Madison used to carry her pens, pencils, stencils, arasers in a fishing tacklebox, but with new security standards for flying she started to get dirty looks. With the train case—even under x-ray—it just looked like an eyeliner addiction.
No comments:
Post a Comment