her evening, the movie.

No time for food, she is enraptured in the sometimes beauty and sometimes grossness of the internet. She would drive but time has flown, as it too often does. What did she do today? She is not so sure.
A rush of train noise, the stark and cold cold silence afterwards. She can see her breath, the condensation floating for a single second in the air. She loves it when her timing is perfect: when the train gods conspire to make her train come just when it is supposed to, and there is a seat next to the window, ripe for gazing. She listens to english hip-hop, because she is not a gangster but perhaps in her mind she is, and dreams of falling in love with a man who happens to sit next to her.
She walks through the chilled air, huddling and wishing she hadn't worn a cardigan. Although it is a very fetching colour. Martha Wainwright and Snow Patrol croon in her ears, reminding her of the past.
She scampers, like some startled rabbit, to catch the flashing red man light. This always happens. Perhaps she should just learn to wait, for the next green man. But it doesn't seem necessary.
She watches a film with an old friend; a lovely film, of love and glimmering sunlight and a man with gorgeous eyes. She loves these sorts of movies; with some sort of seeping nostalgia and great music and beautiful love. There is a scene that is particularly poignant and she likes a lot: everyone is in the changing room at the swimming pool and everyone is naked. She hasn't been to a public swimming pool in a very long time, but the last time she did, and all the times prior to that, she hadn't been too keen on changing in front of other people. But her mother always did. She thinks it must be something old people do, or something that one comes to not care so much about as they pass through life.
She ate too much popcorn and felt sick but quite full. And then, when the film had finished and they exited the cinema complex, she bought a banana choc top, because she felt like it. (Even though the air outside was colder than the ice-cream itself). And she walked with her friend and ate her ice-cream and laughed and was joyous.
The choc-top didn't have chocolate at the bottom of the cone, but she wasn't overly fussed because the rest had been quite delicious, a most satisfactory dinner replacement. After her friend got off the train she imagined the boy in the blue beanie had been listening to their conversation, and had wanted to join in but hadn't, because that may have been considered rude.
When she got home, the heater in her room was already on and her room was toasty and delicious. Her dad played piano and she was content with things.