Her tiny frame was swimming in a worn black duffel coat. Her blindingly pale legs were partly concealed by grey woollen thigh high socks. They looked itchy and unnatural next to her ghost-like skin.
She had one of those full fringes that I ruthlessly ridiculed. It was thick, something to hide behind.
When she sat down with her trendy chums she faded into the scenery. Just another funky trendsetter with a geometric fringe and a demeanour that conveyed pure unhappiness.
As a team they sat behind their ancient literature, whispering about vegan diets and eccentric hair colours, and they shot you looks of utter disgust.
If you weren't wearing lace up shoes, vintage band shirts or mustard beanies you were frowned upon, you were the lowest form of fashion conformism.
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