The weather forecasters

A couple of portraits today, just random people, drawn with words.
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She sat with grace, poise and disdain; horrified to be travelling with the great unwashed, she was so much better than that. She stared out of the window as if not seeing her fellow passengers, would allow her not to be seen. She had a pianist's posture, all straight lines and angles. Her skin so perfect she could have been Lloyd Cole's muse, her hair so blonde it was touched by sunshine and her breasts were the dictionary definition of perky. She tore her attention away from the outside world and looked down at her expensive nails, inspecting the paintwork, tilting her middle finger to see the shade in different light. Was she impressed? it was difficult to say; her beauty competed with her indignation for attention. She was the sun and the rain, clear blue sky and heavy black clouds, a smile would surely bring sunshine but her scowl cast shadows and had us ducking for cover. Then she was gone, with a huff and a puff and a blow of her dainty cheeks, she stood up and left the tram - taking the weather with her. 

You could tell he didn’t suffer fools gladly and you could tell that he thought his two colleagues were quite simply fools. He dressed like a teacher and frowned like one too. But he held himself like a businessman, a man not to be messed with. He had greying hair, a big forehead and unruly stubble. His eyes were like slot machine slots. He put his hand across those eyes and squeezed his temples like a thunderstorm was crashing through his brain. He peered at his colleagues through the gaps in his fingers; they were talking but he was treating their words with the contempt they deserved. He let them finish and then launched his attack. His voice was terse, tense, like hail rattling against a window. His hand didn’t move from his face as he delivered his damning verdict. His two colleagues sat silently, their heads bowed as if sheltering from the downpour. The words lashed down as the storm swirled but eventually the rain eased, petering out. Then he was gone, with a huff and a puff and a blow of his stubbly cheeks, he stood up and left the café - taking the weather with him.