you will know which person this story is about, if you by chance live in the same city i live in, since she is known here as a living legend of the big ballet performances through the past decades. even if you might think of that other famous one, so be it…
i was waiting in the queue in the supermarket with the basket full of things, being bored by people with their pin codes and children, as i noticed exactly her, a great female figure standing right behind me, the queen of the state ballet.
a person much taller than me in her late sixties, aged and worn out like her dress, with a tad of misanthropy around her nostrils, a kind of neurotic apearance, an antique shop itself. the jewelry on her hands, oldfashioned, yet blatantly of a great value - for us hipsters something to be appreciated only through its vintage-potentials, but for her, meant as dead serious.
her basket was containing bottles of beer. a lot of beer.
as some coins flew out of her wallet - a worn out leather remnant, she effortlessly bent over with her entire upper body, her knees still fully straight, stretched her right long skinny arm and picked up the coins from the floor and with the teenager energy straightened up again.
as i am walking towards the exit, she is few steps after me, walking fully controled like having some invisible egg on the top of her head, carrying her plastic bags. i minded the door not to hit her and moved aside so she can walk out.
she doesn’t see me. she walks out, she stages like the street was a stage and the sun was a spot light only meant for her, while leaving me offended, impressed, intimidated and sad.
i am so happy i am not her.