171. 9am. Top deck, halfway down on the right.
Sometimes you come across people who conform exactly to their stereotypes. Frustrating but true.
I was sitting behind two teenage goths. One had bottle-black hair with an uneven pink fringe; the other had given herself a sort of white-blue-purple Neapolitan bob. Pink Fringe tugged at the (black) plastic earring in her stretched left lobe. Neapolitan brandished a (black) smartphone whose screen could not have been any more smashed. The two girls shared a pair of bright green headphones personalised in (black) marker pen. They both wore aggressive neon bracelets and chipped metallic blue nail polish. They had tired, pale faces boasting an abundance of (black) eyeliner. Obviously their clothes were black.
I must look beyond appearances… oh. For half an hour they discussed the names of the goth bands they liked, videos they had seen on YouTube of said goth bands (this is where the smashed HTC came in), and the best brands of goth hairdye and where to buy them.
Come on, girls, mix it up!