The city lights were running beside her, over her, beneath her. She was driving her convertible on the flyover, listening to her favourite music and smoking a Marlboro red, off to her favourite bar on the weekend.
The night seemed to breathe into her, a diminishing energy that made her just want to drink a little and find someone to f*ck.
It had been three longs weeks of compiling her music, editing it, rerecording it at her studio and she knew she deserved a break before she went on with promoting and releasing her album, ‘The urban disaster’.
Kaya was wearing her favourite black peplum dress, it had a lacy back and she loved how it made the nape of her neck look like.
She was a free spirit, in most of the sense free spirits are misunderstood in this city, in this country, in this world in general. She was one of those who had a secret Universe of her own, she used to sing like an angel and she had a kind of life controversial for most, except if you were a true artist at heart, someone who could understand.
Someone who knew how hard it was to keep all of it in. Whatever she felt, whatever she was, inside her body. And so, she helped herself out.
She helped herself out with a joint, a few cigarettes and at least five pegs of whiskey.
Of course, they had a problem with her. A woman pursuing her passion, having a good sex life, paying her rent, owning a car, wearing flimsy clothes and being a responsible stoner and drinker?
How could a society let her live in peace?
She had thick skin.
She knew when it was worth an argument and when it wasn’t.
Mostly, it wasn’t.
They would always find a way to mentally demean her, from her backless dresses to her dyed hair, from her side mohawk to her cigarettes.
They would forget her record signings, her interviews, her flat; they’d focus on her being 30 and single.
As if that were a crime.
She used to remain lost in her own world of classic rock and poetry, she wrote her lyrics and composed it with her 10 year old team; she had performed all over the world.
And yet, it all boiled down to the length of her shorts so many times, on some nights she couldn’t really decide if she was drinking to keep her excessiveness in, or to flush all of the negativity out.
With all these thoughts clouding her sober mind, she entered the low life 60’s style decorated bar.
She ordered a whiskey on the rocks.
“Hello.” A man, probably in his mid-30s sat beside her.
“Hey.” She said, not really paying much attention to him. She just needed the alcohol to kick in fast.
“Slow down a little, madam. We have the whole night.”
She laughed as she stopped in between her gulping.
“You’re right. But I want to not be sober in this moment. And this moment? It’s walking away.”
He smiled at her.
“I like you hair.”
And she realised it wasn’t the first time someone had said that to her and that she had, in fact, been a muse to many people who had loved her art and her for who she was.
Maybe, the night wasn’t that bad after all.
And maybe, life was more about how you balanced two sides of the coin, exactly how you balance your body after 5 pegs of liquor.