I stop at the red light. Balmy summer air streams through the vents, blowing the beads of sweat from my forehead. My attempt to save on petrol money. ”Don’t be cross baby-girl!” I turn to see the woman yelling at me, her voice is coated in a thick cape coloured accent, and her toothless smile reveals pink gleaming gums. I wonder how a woman like her, a woman who has loved, who has suffered, who has a map of stories over her skin, can believe that I need to smile to be happy. The heat of the sun wraps over me. The lights turn green.
