Art-Tissue

The scene opens at a packed bus stop in the centre of a rainy, cold London morning.  Damp, sweaty tourists apologise as they walk into tired, frustrated workers as they are blinded by their gigantic street-maps. The traffic is heavy, and clouds of exhaust fumes and condensation billow down the street. 


Stood at the bus stop is a rather disconsolate looking female dressed in a black leather coat, jeggings and knee high brown boots. Her brown eyes watered as she looked to be in deep thought. Her hand clutched a portfolio which was more of a burden than anything else. She looked at her watch and sighed impatiently. A small, shrivelled up drunk man approached her, not looking where he is going and bumped into her, spilling a metal hipflask of brown liquid on to her coat. "Eh! I'm..I'm a pe-pedestrian. B-B-Bloody...eh!" he staggered off and the woman took a plain white kleenex out of her pocket and, in vain, wiped the liquid, only to smear it and then be surrounded by the odour of whiskey.


She was having a pretty shit day and being covered in alcohol was not what you needed after having the interview from hell at Art College. The big red bus pulled up. Naturally it was packed with the same old stew of people. She stepped onto the bus and dropped her oyster card on to the floor. As she bent down to pick it up she knocked into a tiny, elderly man clutching a zimmer frame as if his life depended on it. "Watch what you're doin ya bloody idiot!" he grumbled loudly. "Sorry" she responded desperately. As she swiped her card, it beeped orange. Rejected. "Sorry I'll try again" she said. The bus driver angrily shook his head "Come on love I'm already ten minutes late". She tried again, orange again. "Right you'll have to pay" he huffed. "I have no change I'm sorry" she whimpered. "Off then. Can't do owt then. Off" People chuntered at her as she exited the bus, a tear starting its descent down her cheek. 


She stood at the bus stop and cried to herself quietly. A tall, thin ginger man then ran into her, his arm in the air and knocked her over. "Oh shit I'm sorry!!" he said as he watched in sheer sadness as his bus pulled away. She didn't get up, instead she sat with her knees to her chest without a single word. He frowned his eyebrows and sat next to her on the ground. His grey suit dotted with rain drops. He took an umbrella out and opened it, sheltering them from the now very heavy rain. "I'm sorry about that. I really am. My name's Arthur" he said, holding his hand out. "Lauren" she responded. "Are you hurt?" asked Arthur taking a packet of red flowery tissues from his pocket. Lauren managed to smile through her tears. "Are those your tissues?" she asked. "Erm..yeah, they match my curtains" he joked. Lauren took one of the tissues and wiped her eyes. "They are nicer than mine" she confessed. "Oh no, my curtains are just lovely." Lauren laughed and gently hit him. "Bad day Lauren?" he asked as he put his tissues back into his pocket. "Very. I have a shit interview then I can't even get on the fucking bus. Fuck fuck FUCK!!" she yelled as tears started rolling down her cheeks. "Where was your interview?" he asked. "Art College" she responded, this seemed to only increase her melancholy, Lauren never wanted to utter those words again. Arthur nodded with interest. "That your portfolio?" he wondered as he eyed her portfolio which was haphazardly thrown onto the pavement like an abandoned newspaper. "Yeah, portfolio of shite" she scowled. Arthur picked it up. "May I?" he asked as he had already unzipped it. Lauren didn't respond, instead she buried her face in her hands. Arthur looked through it for a good ten minutes. His poker face not letting anything on whatsoever. Throughout the whole ten minutes Lauren looked like she wanted a hole in the ground to open and swallow her up. He closed the portfolio and returned it to her. "This is my bus" he said with no expression whatsoever. He took the umbrella and closed it. 


The view changes to the other side of the street. The bus obscures them from our vision and as it pulls away we see Lauren dressed in a flowery skirt and white sandals. The sun floods the streets and the tourists bask in the hot July weather. We follow Lauren down the street until she reaches a brilliant white building with "ARThur" written in calligraphic writing above the glass doors. As she walks in, Arthur, still in the same grey suit, raises his hand. "Morning Lauren" he greets happily. "Good Morning" she responds.