on the bus
She's getting on the bus one day, looking for a seat, and she remembers suddenly that when she was younger (anywhere from 11 to 24) and she was on the bus with an empty seat next to her, she'd always hope that a guy would sit next to her, and that he'd be her type, and of an appropriate age, and that his arm or leg would brush against hers, because she craved contact - even so slight - in the worst way.
She takes a seat next to a woman who's texting, pays no attention to her. The seat in front is empty, but two girls get on and sit there. The one on the left has masses of chocolate brown hair which falls in soft waves. The one on the right has light brown hair, thinner and straighter, but when the bus lurches forward into a patch of sunshine, the light brown becomes gold and red, multi-faceted, with extraordinary white-blonde-ginger highlights.
She looks around at the other passengers. At the front of the bus are two seats that face to the rear. On one of these sit two boys. They could be 14 or 20, it's hard to tell. The one on the left is skinny and his hair is hidden under the grey hood of his sweatshirt. The one on the right is slightly plump, has a pudding-bowl haircut of dark brown hair, and a small flesh tunnel ring in his left ear. She rather fancies him, but has to remind herself she's not only out of his league, but probably old enough to be his mother (depending on whether he's 14 or 20).
She looks sideways at the woman next to her, who's still texting, and remembers one time when she was on a bus about ten years earlier, when she saw someone constantly pressing the buttons on their phone; what she thought was they were so enamoured of their new gadget they couldn't stop playing with it. She'd never actually tell anyone this - that she was so ignorant to not realise they were doing something real.