Legs crossed, popping bubble gum in a cafe in Madrid, a handsome sailor, smoking, a tattoo on his shoulder, reading the daily paper, built but not too big, 6’1. The crowd moving about, middle of the afternoon, hours before the night storm, sun is out, not too hot, just mild, coffee-kind of temperature, everything set in everyday motion, the mailman riding his bike across, the soldiers coming back from duty, nothing worries, nothing threatens, no danger of walking across to the sailor’s, asking for a lighter. He looks at you, and smiles his charming smile, and says “sure thing miss”, and watches you leave…a thousand things run through your head. Should you turn around, give him a good, long, look, ask for his number nonchalantly like it’s your everyday kinda thing, or should you keep walking gracefully, but carelessly like nothing in the world bothers you, like you don’t see any possibility of wrong. So you are walking like this, and then you see these cute children, they’re around elementary age, and they’re so happy and pretty, licking candy, and singing a Spanish tune. But you, you don’t pay attention because right now you are pretty and they look at you, as you step across, skipping over a puddle and your skirt flows, hips curving to the right, then left. You are indifferent to the city’s noise…
And then you are standing across your apartment. No one has followed you. You threw that cigarette away right after you passed the sailor because you don’t smoke anyway. The mailbox is empty. Yesterday you picked up your letters. You look up to the pale blue sky and a plane flies in a smooth curve, making you feel dreamy. You turn the key, push yourself inside, and your skirt is caught between the door. The cat is asleep. You make coffee and there is a ring, you’re awake and you write everything down so you don’t forget the pretty dream with the handsome sailor.