Arriba arriba! Soy libra, Soy libra!

Scarlet lips gravitate to silver. The red-dressed harlot sits cross-legged, toes pointed. She sucks languidly on a cigarette.

Smoke billows and filters. Tentative fingers curl.

Glasses clink and conversations float. Laughter spreads out into the hazy evening sunshine. The roof tops sparkle silver.

A red rose sits in a glass vase.

Castanets click like gunshots while platformed shoes tap.

But wait!

A rabid baboon has climbed in through the slightly ajar window from a blue-hazed backdrop.

Terror proliferates.

People knock down tables, run, gnash and scream. The baboon grabs the chaunteuse with his black, human-like fingers, and snaps her neck.

A gong chimes in the square. The baboon squeezes into the silky red dress and sits demurely. He puts his moistened lips to the microphone.

A striking singing talent is revealed. The baboon's voice floats like nectar through the summer evening. Trees russle gently under a yellow sky. Drunken crowds cheer wildly.

Red roses flash against teeth.


...

A tiny Mexican lady creeps through the square underneath the tree-lined sky. Her face is yellow, like a faded portrait. A life caressed by sunshine on dusty June evenings.

She makes a clicking noise with her tongue as she shuffles along.

The evening sunlight beats down relentlessly on her fragile black shawl.

White-washed walls are covered by cracks while ivy creeps. Boys in white shorts play football on the street corner. 

The silence is solid, like in a dream.

A jolly caballero appears against the rustic wall. He starts playing an hypnotic tune on his fiddle. A skinny cat runs out from a crack.

Suddenly it is wearing cat boots and dancing on hind legs.

The old woman is drawn to the sound. She is like a snake curling out of a basket to a naked Indian in a white turban. She throws off her shawl.

Two rabid dogs start fighting over it, snarling and bearing their teeth in the dust, like baboons with purple anuses.

She runs along the cobbles with her arms spread wide. Her sagging breasts sway defiantly in the soft evening breeze.

"Arriba arriba!, Soy libra, Soy libra!"

She falls to the ground, dead. Colourful flowers cover her body.

Perfume circulates, tepid blue.