The girl was in her mid-twenties, with short blond hair and expensive clothing of an indeterminate trendiness. She smiled and made eye contact with Byron and I watched with interest; people hit on him all the time, but rarely during a ride on the Piccadilly line.
She leaned forward and was about to say something to him when the train jolted and the can loosely clasped between her knees fell to the ground, spilling beer across the aisle separating us. She smiled, looked up at Byron through long eyelashes, and picked up the can.
Holding it with one hand, she reached in to her yellow backpack with the other, rummaged for a moment before she found a towel. Then she leaned down and wiped up the spill.
We watched in fascination as she swabbed the floor of the carriage, folded her towel, and put it away. She cocked her head and seemed about to say something but I elbowed Byron and he looked away. While it is always a good idea to make interesting new friends, there are limits. Hygiene is top of the list.
The girl pulled the towel out again and continued to clean the floor.