Cheer Up

Dressed head to toe in sex worker pink she hunched over at the top of the station steps as if leaning into an invisible storm.

She’s high as fuck he thought, as he gazed up at her from the bottom of the escalator. Probably nodding out.

The station was empty. He was late for work. It would have been quicker to walk but he preferred the slow grind of the escalator.

He watched her swaying and imagined her falling down the steps, pale legs splayed, short pink skirt covering even less.

Then he felt bad. The image was intrusive. Sexual in some way. She’d finished work, she wasn’t inviting that now.

She was just doing what millions of people do after being fucked by their desks all day: try and forget. 

The escalator edged upwards, bringing them together.

When they were close enough to almost touch, she looked up at him, like she’d been waiting for that exact moment.

‘What’s your problem, fucking Jason Donovan?’ she said.

Jason Donovan? What was she talking about?

Then it clicked. There were posters for a Jason Donovan show all over the station. She was talking to Jason. 

He stepped off the escalator and walked past her.

‘You!’ she called after him.

He looked back. She was standing tall and triumphant now.

‘Cheer the fuck up Jason, it’s all fucking comedy’ she yelled.

He walked out of the station into the light and decided he should call Caroline and tell her he was sorry.

Analogue social post, flyposted on top of flyposter Bondi Junction