Fragments

Somebody stole my black moleskin jacket with the punk badges.
I was walking forward behind the housing estate in a provincial lowland culdesac of a suburban post-industrial townlet.
Here were the features of the townlet: grannies in granny flats being onlookers. Patches of council-shorn grass. Rain-wet roads, grey tarmac. An empty white sky. Council-built semi-detacheds from the '30s look so unbecoming in a brief late summer rain....
Opening her drawers softly so the girl in the next room doesn't hear. It's the big chest of drawers, with the long, heavy drawers, overstuffed with garments. The housebreaker....
This girl, what is she like? Has an ex and a son, of whom she is very fond. Wears what I consider to be too much make-up, an awful mask of make-up. In general, vulgar, and not slightly, not forgivably. Face is not too pretty, looks haggard and weary before her time, also her thought and ways of expressing herself are coarse, which is reflected in her face, her over-eager appearance. Going through her facebook pictures you see it; an eagerness to please.
Obviously, too, her coarseness is allied with a short temper and a protectiveness towards her wean.
I was told she contacted one or two of the prettier boys in the art school and offered them liasions. I can well believe it, but, of course, it is hearsay. She added me as a friend, but I was never offered anything myself. I didn't find her particularly attractive.