In front of me in the queue was Woman. I had always thought Woman was a transvestite or a transexual, but now I am not so sure. Woman was wearing little black pixie boots with big gold plastic violins attached to the zips at the back, a leopard-print miniskirt complete with hide-shaped hem, and a tan belted mac. On her orange hair, which was scraped up into a bun, she had a black holey knitted tube, with her hair peeping out from the holes. She wears winged spectacles and a lot of orange make-up; today, she had sugar-pink lipstick on and around her lips, black spotty eyebrows drawn on her forehead and some black stripes drawn on her cheeks.
I often see her tottering along in little kitten-heeled sandals at the bottom of our road, and once I saw her mowing the lawn in front of her bungalow.
She has very manly legs.
I felt the woman standing next to me wanting to exchange glances, but I like Woman's Look. Woman looks in the mirror every morning and likes what she sees, and I think that is cause for celebration. I don't have a mirror in my room because I prefer not to see what I look like most of the time, and I am happy that way. Woman is brave, because she makes herself look the way she wants to and goes out in all her splendour, sticking two fingers up at all the scaredy-cat suburban beiges with her style.
Tonight I am playing some songs on www.resonancefm.com at 11.30, on Johny Brown's show. It can be listened to on the Internet.
I'm not sure what songs to play... I have just started to write a new one about a quiet little woman who makes lace for months and months unnoticed. What she is making is a pair of wings, and at the end of the song she flies away.
But it won't be finished in time.