Public Transit

Her name was Meagan.
She wore black leather gloves, the kind that my grandmother wears. Her coat was cherry red, and her bangs poofed back elegantly.
She sat in the corner of the bus with her hands placed gently in her lap right beside her purse. She had the type of face that, while unanimated, was nearly boring. Pretty, but boring.
A man came on the bus, his smile complete with golden caps. He took a seat next to her. His clothes were dirty, and his smell wasn't the cleanest I've ever been exposed to.
He struck up a conversation with her. She smiled, politely I assumed, and gave a quick reply. And then they continued to chat, her smile began to get warmer, and he seemed glad to speak to a pretty lady, as I'm sure they would hardly give him a chance usually. In this society they'd call him creepy.
She would speak to him while looking him in the eye, and he'd look right back. It was strange, I admired her courage - as I'd expected her to stare out the window and ignore him to the best of her ability. I saw them shake hands, and he asked her to repeat her name, she said Meagan. He smiled again.