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Description
I was no one and it seemed pretty to me. I wanted to be one of those pretty people that you see in the street and no one knows their names.
You see them in all sorts of places, doing all sorts of things; leaning against the wet plastic wall of a bus stop staring down the road, drinking cheap instant coffee from big white polystyrene cups – I’m quite convinced they live on instant coffee, because they’re so skinny and you never see them drink or eat anything else –, playing with the cable of their huge black headphones that make them look like strangers from another time or galaxy while they’re listlessly staring out of the window in the underground – anyone else would look stupid staring out of the window in the underground, because there is nothing to see, but they don’t, because they’re nobodies and they go perfectly well with nothing. But mostly they’re walking, walking through the city, walking in a crowd of people without looking at any of them. And all the people turn their heads and pretend to sneer at them while they’re secretly wondering who they are and what their trick is.
And you smile at them, because you think maybe they’ll teach you how to be pretty if you show them that you worship them. But they never smile back, because their eyes are empty and they see and hear no one and they pull their thin twenty-percent-fabric-and-eighty-percent-confidence coats a little tighter and carry on –
Carry on with what? Who am I to know? With being pretty and gloriously empty I guess.
Just don’t try to be like them. It’s not possible and I’m convinced they’re either aliens or born like that. Trust me.
I was no one and I found out it was not enough. Not very pretty.

Description
I was no one and it seemed pretty to me. I wanted to be one of those pretty people that you see in the street and no one knows their names.
You see them in all sorts of places, doing all sorts of things; leaning against the wet plastic wall of a bus stop staring down the road, drinking cheap instant coffee from big white polystyrene cups – I’m quite convinced they live on instant coffee, because they’re so skinny and you never see them drink or eat anything else –, playing with the cable of their huge black headphones that make them look like strangers from another time or galaxy while they’re listlessly staring out of the window in the underground – anyone else would look stupid staring out of the window in the underground, because there is nothing to see, but they don’t, because they’re nobodies and they go perfectly well with nothing. But mostly they’re walking, walking through the city, walking in a crowd of people without looking at any of them. And all the people turn their heads and pretend to sneer at them while they’re secretly wondering who they are and what their trick is.
And you smile at them, because you think maybe they’ll teach you how to be pretty if you show them that you worship them. But they never smile back, because their eyes are empty and they see and hear no one and they pull their thin twenty-percent-fabric-and-eighty-percent-confidence coats a little tighter and carry on –
Carry on with what? Who am I to know? With being pretty and gloriously empty I guess.
Just don’t try to be like them. It’s not possible and I’m convinced they’re either aliens or born like that. Trust me.
I was no one and I found out it was not enough. Not very pretty.