Frankston

by Ruby Brunton

I’m going to Frankston today, I’m excited. I’m almost skipping along to my ipod shuffle as I enter Parliament station. I make my way over to the ticketing booth where the attendant calls me “Sweetie”. I feel a pang for New York. He then informs me on the weekend you don’t need to purchase a zone 2 ticket. He is my new favourite person.

On the train, I set myself up with novel, ipod shuffle, water, notebook and pen all within reach. It’s like I’m going to another world, even though I used to do longer train rides from Croton to Grand Central every day. I try counting the stations until I fall asleep. We pull into Frankston at 11am.

On my way out of the train station I spot two tweens in immaculate Clueless getup, complete with mini backpacks and mary janes. Rats, I think as I see them heading to the Savers. Oh well, they are both much tinier than me.

The Savers seems no better than the ones in the city, but Frankston provides the early riser with an abundance of smaller church thrift stores down little lanes and back alleys.

Unfortunately, all the skinny jeans are all too big for me and the ones that fit are all bootcut, but I do find a pair of lime green capris I figure I can dye later. I find an arts and crafts store that sells iDye (from the Apple domestic products line?). This new-fangled dye can actually be popped right into your washing machine – a bit risky when you have housemates. I pocket some for three times the price of the capris and decide it’s time to head home.

It’s not until halfway through the train ride home – somewhere around Mentone – that I notice the photo of the naked woman on the cover of my novel.

I hope the kindly old ladies sitting across from me don’t think I’m reading porn.

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