I watched in fascination as she applied powder to her cheeks as the subway train rocked through the tunnel.
She looked like a porcelain doll.
The woman seated opposite her frowned and shook her head, wrinkling her nose, making quite clear her displeasure at this public act of grooming. No one else seemed to pay attention to what was going on between these two, but I found it oddly amusing.
And I had to give it to her. Her skin turned out like a peach, softly hued, free of imperfection.
Oh the things you see on the subway.
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