One night in the coffee bar I met a girl with ginger hair. Maybe she was a woman. I am still not sure.

-Something special about her face?

– Well, I am sure she was pale.

-But she was not so old?

– Well, not at all. Still, I am sure she’s not young anymore. Her eyes are rather blank, but she is said to see many things. When she speaks, she does so rather calmly and with a kind of smile. She can soothe you, but she’s not even nice.

So she asks me gently:

-Do you like your Porridge? I once ate the best in Norvich.

But look at her hands. They are shaking right now.

– Have you ever been there? You must…

 Oh! She is the woman of stories… and she always has a new story to tell:

-I once met an artist there…

-Really? A well-known star?

-Well, not really, but very down-to-earth.

-So what was so special about him?

-He was floating in the air! I thought what an amazing man and he was very down to earth and did not teach people how to levitate.

Another time she talks to you – rather in an unexcited way, and her hands have just grabbed something, tossed it, then thrown it.

Yesterday I met her again. She told me a different story in her calm voice wile waving her keys in her hand.

I once asked a wise man what was wrong with her hands?

And he answered me: „Well, maybe everything is fine, I do not know. Maybe her hands represent her dreams.”

-Does she not believe in her dreams?

-Maybe or maybe she’s smart and does not make them come true.

-Should I meet her tomorrow?

-Well, for what reason?

-I just want to take her hand.

– Maybe you are a dreamer too?