She walks home, alone, accompanied by only the sidewalk and the sky, concrete and heaven. The continual rhythm, the one of walking; left, right, left, right, serves as a mindless distraction while she lets her thoughts drift far away from the city streets, all gray concrete and black asphalt, with the occasional dash of yellow pepper and a lonely tree. And she lets those thoughts fly, like the paper boats that her little brother makes out of old newspapers; sailing far and wide, driven with the slightest puff of wind. Daydreams spinning in their bobbins, golden flax and barley rye, telling tales of things too-good-too-be-true and things hoping-to-come-true. She smiles, and raises her head to the sky, struck by the simple beauty of the moment; fresh, and tangy, but smooth, at the same time; lime zest and cream. And she couldn’t help but twirl in circles, then, like a little girl playing princess; oh what a sight she must have been! Spinning in the middle of the sidewalk, her arms outstretched, a bright burst of lemon-gold happiness in the middle of a grey, utopian world, where everyone conformed. And then the rain came, pounding the ground with certainty, thunder and lightning frowning upon the girl who twirled there, in her own corner of the world, the one girl, out of billions, who dared to laugh.