(explicit content) (strong language)
Joan was standing on the platform, combat boots unlaced, leather jacket open, half falling off her thin frame, black t-shirt over a black mini-skirt. Her skin was pale, almost corpse white. Certainly she wasn’t conventionally beautiful, it was more her attitude, her way of facing the world. Unflinching, a giant fuck you to everything. With Joan nothing was sacred.
She looked like exactly what she was, unemployed, semi-homeless, violent, addicted. She didn’t hook, she did steal, she did deal, she had been known to rob on occasion. Once a man tried to rape her. She threw him through a second story window.
The train arrived, Joan stepped on, headed downtown. The subway was the best way to get around, if you timed it right you could sneak into the station without having to pay. If she did get caught, well, most of the time it would be a man – a quivering lip and pushing her shoulders back a little would usually make sure she didn’t suffer any consequences.
On the train Joan sat, or rather sprawled. Her legs spread wide, almost laying across two seats. There was nothing refined about her, nothing civilized. She ignored the rules across the board. The man across the car was trying hard not to look up her skirt, she didn’t wear underwear, almost ever, and the skirt was very short. She didn’t give a shit, and once she caught him trying to avert his gaze she opened her legs even wider, trying to force her nakedness on him.
Finally, her stop. She walked to the door, looking back at the man who tried so hard not to catch a glimpse, winked at him when she realized he was meeting her eyes. She stepped off the train, not with the hip swaying walk one normally associates with overt sexuality, instead she stepped hard, heels striking the ground like hammers, long legs straight, her stride determined.