WANG CHUNG: "Dance Hall Days"

The streets are a deserted dance hall, reminiscing the previous night. All guests have disappeared and noise has turned to silence. The concrete breathes the morning chill. A sparrow hops cautiously, seemingly unbelieving that the coast is clear again. The night holds expectations; the morning brims with revelations. There’s silence after the storm, and sunshine before the rain. Her heels click in a steady pace. The coffee is hot, too hot still. She’s cool. Time goes fast, but she walks faster.

A suit-dressed man walks past her in the opposite direction. A breeze of fragrance enters her nostrils, and instantly it all comes back to her. That’s the smell. His smell. The same perfume that mesmerised her from the very first time she inhaled it. There he is, vividly, she feels his touch, his strong arms, a cheeky laugh etched in a half-open mouth. Her eyes blink franticly behind the dark-coloured sunglasses. The present is a memory of a distant future. She turns her neck, yet knows that the back disappearing behind the corner is not the one she used to kiss with half-closed eyes. She walks faster, but her heart beats fastest.