Blue jeans, burgundy top and determination as seasonal complement, was the outfit of choice for the event of the night. Why she wanted to go and assist to this musical affair was not clear yet. The performer, someone she had met, a piece of a story from which a delicate touch of confusion still remained. I have just come to dance, she hoped she could say. Artists with their delicious mess, cannot live with it, neither without them. Before arrival, so many thoughts in her head, will I find a discreet corner, could I sit there quietly, have my drink, listen to the beat and smoothly leave. For only this once, she wished she could disguise, be a tall, beautifully ginger Tilda, speak with another accent, be androgynously and mysteriously magic, have the impersonating talent and leave the scene without being seen. And once back, on her bicycle, the boat, her flat, muse on the night and daydream the way one does when fallen asleep amid the flowers, for a couple of hours, on a beautiful day.

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