On the 5:53 a.m. No. 43 bus

I was riding the early bus in the first forward-facing seat.

A girl got on just before downtown and sat in the center-facing seat directly in front of me. She might have been 18. Could have been 20.

She proceeded to extract a compact from her bag and began applying makeup, studying the little mirror as she went.

I wasn’t sure this was a great idea. It was pretty dark in the bus. And the ride is not without an occasion jostle. How could she do a precise job?

I imagined saying something to her. “You know, you don’t really need that stuff. You look just fine.”

But, of course, I kept quiet. Billions of dollars spent convincing women to be insecure about their appearance had already spoken.