Going out

Parked at Dalston Junction on a red line, a woman performs her toilette standing at the back of her Mercedes with the boot open and a line of traffic inching past while they wait for the temporary traffic lights to change. She creams both her legs - taut calves (six inch taupe suede heels). Then pulling the straps of her top off her shoulders she does her neck and décolletage.

Going Home

The city is cool (but not cold) after the heat of the day. I'm chatting to a girl at the bus stop to keep her mind off needing a wee. A northern lass from between Manchester and Leeds, wearing a tiny short dress that could be a nightie. Her bus comes first. I'm left. I sit down. Opposite at the Tea House a queue is forming. Fashionable young things, slightly drunk and excitable. Opposite a girl sits down on a doorstep of a doorway covered in corrugated iron. Her legs are out straight to both accommodate her big wedges and to stop her knickers showing. She pulls her boyfriend down next to her. They have some kind of heavy conversation. Down the street a girl in a polka dot dress with net hanging out the bottom drapes herself drunkenly over her boyfriend. They snog.

People hanging around. Flirting. Drinking. Talking. Small groups. Couples. Stringing along the pavements from the closing pubs to the queues outside the night clubs. Everybody seems so young.

The 149 pulls up. Its packed. Standing next to a couple who bicker all the way to Tottenham (and beyond). She wanted to catch a bus to save money but complained about the amount of time it would take. He would have preferred to spend money on a cab to get home more quickly. Her nostrils flared in and out with anger even though they weren't shouting at one another.