White ribbons drooping from cutaway like-a-virgin lacy gloves, and with soft scarves and loose threads dangling from her bag, her jacket, her waist, her ponytail, the bobbles which swing from the top of her boots, she is a limp Medusa of the morning - all sleepy limbs, swaying extensions and and yawning.

Nodding along with the music in her ears which leaks out occasionally in silver-cymballed beads and the chirrups of tree-frogs, she skillfully applies first concealer, then foundation, to smooth her half-woken skin, dull the bright spots of chilled flush on her cheeks, cover the shadows under her eyes.

She is tired, and this morning ritual is performed in private, inside the walls of her attention, the train a public extension of her bathroom.

Eyeliner, shadow, highlighter to brow and socket and the sides of her nose. Liptint, applied with a stained brush the colour of frosted Ribena. Mascara, poked and stroked onto lashes framing eyes which peer into a hand-held mirror, while her mouth makes an unconscious ‘o’. Then blush, which lifts her color, brings her to cheeks back to life in the cold morning. Finally, attaching to ears multiple strands of silver, which brush her collar and tangle with her hair, and a rummage in the bag of tricks to find the secret ingredient, a breath mint.

As the train rumbles through the city, she becomes human, and when the next stop comes, she rises and leaves the train, coloured ribbons and scarves and extensions flying, alive, awake and ready.