Extracts From The Books I’ll Never Write 0001

She was round. She had a round face, a round body and round legs. Even the bag that she was holding on her lap was round. Her round cheeks sat on her round chin and her thin lips were upturned in concentration. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her round eyes focused deeply on the magazine she was clasping with her round hands and short fingers. Her face was a ball of pink concentration and she was sitting in a way so that she took up as least space as possible on the underground train. It looked as though she was holding her breath in. Her efforts seemed to be failing though; her body spilled out on both sides of her seat. Her hair was a sundried ginger and she looked as though her life depended upon whatever she was reading in that magazine. She had very small shoes on. So small, that her feet were oozing out of them. She was heading towards a long day at work, and was trying to build up the courage to tell her manager that she wanted to quit.

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