When the Trees Sleep

She walks past the stares, the comments and the whistles. As she climbs the ITO overhead pedestrian bridge, her watch finds its way out of the three layers she's wearing, to show quarter past ten. Each step of the stair is a mere inch above the other. Huddled, as if to beat the chill in the air. In the auto she takes to Barakhamba, the chill battles on .To victory, as she spots a shivering old beggar hunt for fallen peanuts that have escaped the million shoes that tried to stomp on them, as they lay, unprotected, and without claim. With each crackle of the peanut shells, the beggars body crackles too. His blanket has more air pockets than wool.
She looks to the right. Towards the metro station. Two men, both twenty somethings, one is curly, the other straight. 'Do people with curly hair have curls all over their body?' she wonders. Curiosity decides the potential mate. She laughs. The number of desirables increases. Deservings are scattered. Its like an entrance exam, she thinks. And smiles at the pun.
The metro ride is uneventful, except that she thinks of him as the lights change direction through her reflected face in the window. Notices the difference between the two. Before-After pics in the head. Smiles. Vows never to let out the comparison. Men, she thinks. Morons. Bad bargain, most. A hint of the dream for faking it day after day. Not done. She thinks of him again. Too free. Too free to care about anything. Anyone. She realizes she wants care. But fun too. He won't be both. She thinks she'll try, to give him a chance, as he professes to remedy the wrongs she knew he'd do. For a moment, she dreams, in a fatigue induced half sleep, that the both of them are lying, heads up, in their own butterfly wings, on an empty white beach, at "Forgotten Is., Population: 2." She wakes up, zips up (jacket), gets ready to walk out.
But there are still 7 stations to go.