Monday, December 29, 2003

The Queen Mum

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Watching people is like listening to a concert.

Waiters are conducting cups of coffee and cake to the tables.
Little Goldilocks with porcelain eyes in pink partydress is running up and down the scales of the restaurant floor.
A duet of women comes sailing in. With outstretched arms they tear colorful snakes away from their necks. They peel off their coatskins and drape them around the back of the chair.
One of them caresses her hairdo with a comb. Clutching the red-toothed scepter between a commanding thumb and index, she arranges her silver crown: a little higher on the left, over the ear on the right, smoother behind.
The other woman looks down her sour nose.
Her brown headdress cannot match the glitter of the queen mum.

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