Dangerous Creatures

On my way into work and I spotted one. Red jacket, fair complexion, hair dyed a dark almost maroon red. To hide the grays and whites and display some of her fire.

Hair captured in the wet look that can only be accomplished by Dep or Queen Helene gel.

Enough make up to make you guess her age but not enough to make you think shes a child. Its a mystery. 

A look and style that screams mother but also slightly unhinged "she still got it" aunt. A jacket so bright red you question is she bangs on the block.

A demeanor detached and cool, a level I could never dream of reaching. A stacked little body carrying a thickness that only comes with age or child bearing.The kind of woman that makes the back of your brain play "Electric Relaxtion" or "Back Seat" depending on how your day goes.

Her headphones in, bopping along to Marc Anthony, La India or some Mary J. Something that reminds her of all the struggles she overcame to get to this point. Broken hearts, useless men and friends that did her dirty. She is not to be fucked with. 

Loud as all hell when asking if the woman at the door wants her seat, no concept of volume level. She's small, loud and she has had to fight to be heard in more ways than one. A loudness that recalls holiday parties with loud music and a room full of cousins.

There she is folks the most dangerous creature on the planet. 

A Puerto Rican woman that survived.