Carolina twirled on Sunset Boulevard, graceful in the cool night air. We both shivered a little in our sweaters, despite being in Hollywood, it was too soon for Spring. But the wind off the canyons never seemed to bother her.
Arms arched high, like some Medicine Woman from a far-off plateau, eyes dark and full of secrets, she wove her spell around all who glimpsed her. The girl was an elemental force, stopping cars as they crawled by in LA’s long traffic jam, mesmerizing diners as their forks halted by parted lips. Her eyes glimmered and theirs moistened.
An audience of sorts.
But Carolina never cared to linger over the small thoughts of others. Like her compatriots, a pulsating carnival of Brazilians, gesticulating languidly, she had no interest in trivial etiquette. They swarmed around us, undulating their hips and pouting their soft syllables, lashes half-raised, or eyes wide open, drinking thirstily from the life force.
Miss C, she stood alone, perfectly genteel, yet wild and unpredictable as a rare orchid.
I drank it too.
Sure, somewhere they all had jobs, studies, life-paths, but for this moment, something was in check, somewhere a breath was held in. Belief was suspended and the pendulum poised, ready to turn back.
Miss C, she stood alone, perfectly genteel, yet wild and unpredictable as a rare orchid. When she was still, she was very still. Unfathomable eyes staring right through you.
I’m booking my flight.
Photography By Dear Velvet