You know the type? The ones that sit alone, with their heads buried in books, not even blinking an eye as the midday trains go roaring past as the school girls all hold down their dresses. With their blonde hair, they all think they can be Marilyn Monroe. Or Barbie. But they're not fooling anyone, and the boys only want the trains to go screaming past again.
You know the type. Always in clans, looking like clones. They're happy. I think. At least they seem to be. But the girl that sits by herself, with her music loud enough to drown out auditory reality, she isn't. And she doesn't even pretend to be. And if she closes her eyes, the visual world disappears too, and reality no longer exists. Then, if you look closely, you can see a smile form. It might only come along as frequently as a blue moon, but it's sure to make a blind man weep.