BRINKS
Black feathers, gold leaf, lips painted crimson and mouths hidden behind porcelain.
I stepped slowly around, taking a glass of champagne from a silver tray carried by gloved hands. I went solo even when I had people to come with, I was starting to regret it, I was already bored out of my ass. I started to hum the music the piano was playing, within me, where I was standing, since it was ‘Idea 22’ – a song that never gets old. The ballroom was noisy, footsteps echoing, people clinking glasses, fake smiles and mocking laughters poisoning the arena. The odour of old money, deceit, and lies whispering in different languages at a time... and the night hasn't even started yet.
Bab Populer