For 20 minutes she alternates between urgent texting, reluctantly conversing with the boy beside her, and pulling her long, faux-messy hair out of her eyes. He spends most of his time trying to attract her attention, but she brushes off his comments absently as she responds to her vibrating phone; it's obvious that she is only sharing the métro ride home with him by chance. His baby face reminds me of a boy I once knew.
Apart from the currently typical well-to-do Parisian teen attire (short shorts, leggings, tiny canvas jacket, enormous scarf almost-but-not-quite brushing the floor), she is wearing what can only be described as Ugg boots. I know they're supposed to be the thing to wear but I can't help but shudder. To me, they're slippers. And always will be. Wearing slippers outside is just. not. done. Unless you're running to the mailbox and back.
"You look like an idiot" I think. Then quickly admonish myself for having such thoughts. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to bodily snatch them off her feet and throw them out the window.
I add lambswool slippers to the list of things we have to bring back from Australia.