A CABALLO

Too loud, too confident, too much for this city. Her heels clatter on the asphalt like the castanets of fate, and the scent of jasmine and tobacco hangs behind her like a signature on a scandal. No one argues with her - at most, they try not to get trampled underfoot. Every movement is a challenge, every glance is knowledge that self-pity is the lot of the weak. She doesn't run or walk, she gallops, burning up kilometres and conventions. She takes off with every beat, like a horse without a bridle - and let the world frantically cling to its propriety as she rushes past, sparkling with gold and freedom.