Trixie Jean Rides the Rails

Trixie Jean rides the pink, green, and blue line night after night.  She wears her wirey, fourty something year old, blond hair tied back into perverse pig tails that jut out from each side of her head.  She smears her face in cheap drug store pink blush.  She goes up over the cheek bones and then down the sides of her gaunt face until she vaguely resembles a five year old who got into mommy's make up.  She glides the bubblegum pink lipstick over her gnarled lips and puckers.  She looks around the train car as she does her work as if to attract anyone in the lonely light night El train car.  Next she moves onto her nails which are chipping with the same shade of pink nail polish.  She chips them clean and begins to reapply the tacky shade carefully moving in conjunction with the train's movements as not to mess up her nails.  She is clad in a pink cammie, baggy pink pajama pants and chunky pink flip flops.  Just as she finishes applying the goods from her Walgreens bag she takes a tissue and removes all the makeup.  The tissue is soaking with pink, making her face seem like its bleeding pink.  Once her face is clean again with its wrinkles and natural uneveness she begins her meticulous yet ridiculous makeup routine again.  She only looks up to smile at each stop of the train, or at any of the gentlemen who step on.  

Trixie rides the rails all night looking for a paying gig.  She is usually unsuccessful probably due to the fact that she's pushing fifty and still trying to look like some little Lolita.  Occasionally she gets an offer from a hardup old man or two.  They get off the train, find an empty alley and she'll pull his dick out leaving a ring of pink around it even after he's finished.  They never want to fuck her, she almost looks too sad for that and you never put your dick in a hooker, for safety's sake.  How could you explain to your wife of 20 years why you suddenly have chlamydia?  She's probably been raped in the past, which is why it'd just be sad to fuck her now. 

Tonight is not a successful endeavor for poor Trixie, at least not in the duration of my green line ride.  She giggles to herself as if enjoying some secret joke that the rest of us can't understand.  The giggle is almost sinister, but its probably a side effect of schizophrenia which went untreated as a young woman, before all of this.