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I sometimes like to write
My barbarian friend and I spend most of our lazy summer evenings on a bench in front of the National Theatre, breathing in the sweet scent of tulips and daffodils, and other colourful herbs. It's always the same. She complains, I nod sympathetically so she wouldn't notice I didn't listen. Always the same.
Suddenly, textures of a silhouette sharpen within the domain of my blurred stare and I notice a bipedal vertebrate, an exceptionally svelte male striding confidently right across those cherished plants. Towards us. And I sit up straight and focus on fully distinguishing the form arising from the twillight.
Alerted by the sudden interruption of our routine, the despot stops talking and traces my stare. We gaze in silence as he approaches us, and with each step we absorb more of his oddity. Dressed in a strange pearly white attire, with field flowers in his golden locks, the young patrician glides past us like an apparition.
She feels like a reality check.
"You are not allowed to walk on the flowers." she addresses him in her misplaced prosaic, correctional way.
He turns around in a single fluid motion and replies complacently,
"No. You are not allowed to walk on the flowers."
"He has a point there.", I carelessly utter contemplating out loud as we watch him disappear in the dark hallway of the National Theatre.
"What do you mean??", the cannibal next to me protrudes and I retreat.
"Nothing really", I say apologetically until she drops the matter.
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