Punkmuter

She was an aging punk rocker sitting next to me on the train

Orange hair spiked not out of rebellion or nostalgia but mere routine

Doc Martin boots made before they were hip

Leather and denim worn and comfortable

Her ginger perfume betrayed her rough exterior

She frowned at the words Mr. Grisham had written at her.

If I asked her what her favorite Bad Brains song was we could be friends

But that's not allowed.

I'm a man and she's a woman and if we aren't going to have sex we aren't supposed to be friends