(part I)

She checks her makeup in a compact mirror, cleverly mounted on the reverse side of her hairbrush. Whilst the train is stopped, she can apply eyeliner without the risk of removing an eye, but she continues to sketch defining lines even when the engine begins again. I am surprised when she brings out an eyelash curler, and I see a wide green eye catching me spying - I smile and look away rapidly.

Shoes of fashionable plastic, a black and magenta mini-skirt, a tiny pink tank-top with cherries monogrammed on the chest, and stylishly tousled hair - and the way she checks her makeup - it all makes me feel proud of my minimalist black clothing and bright purple ponytail.

(part II)

How many times can a woman check her makeup in the space of ten minutes? I'm sitting here with not a dab of man-made colour on my face, and I wonder why she bothers. She seems more than pretty enough - why is she compelled to make herself into a painted doll?

(part III)

She methodically checks the contents of her bag - bottled water, cigarettes, orange lighter, lilac address book. (Did I mention the sunglasses atop her perfect blonde hair?) And now we've reached South Yarra - her stop. That this is where her train ride ends doesn't surprise me. We may as well call this place Trendyville.

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