After scarcely three hours of sleep, the alarm clock goes off. Never mind, all she thinks is 'the show must go on'. She picks up a pair of tights and a large shirt from the back of a chair and gets dressed. To the sound of the Kinks, she quickly browses through her emails while drinking her coffee. She randomly grabs a hand full of bracelets, puts on her fetish tiara, combing through her hair full of memories from the night before, and rushes out of the apartment.
In front of her building, the misty pavement becomes her imaginary catwalk. On the cold asphalt, the clatter of her heels beats the rhythm of a new bustling day that begins. Her gaze is
steady, her pace is calm, a light smile plays around the corner of her mouth and, clinging to her bag, she thinks to herself “I will rock”!!!
Entering her apartment, she throws her bag randomly on the floor in the hallway and almost slams the door in the face of her youngest, who was struggling to climb the last couple of stairs. Whilst she is making up some overdone excuses, the first chords of her newest play list hits the living room out of her state-of-the-art speakers.
With a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, she prepares lunch to the rhythm of the music that’s on full blast. A look at the clock on the wall reminds her that she is late for picking up her eldest daughter from her flute lesson. Quickly, improvised baby-sitting is arranged with the usual neighbour. With no time for chit-chat, she shoulders her leather jacket over her light dress and then grabs her faithful friend, the bag, never failing to provide in the frenetic pace of a Macha Harson woman's every day life.
4:15 p.m. on a cold December day in Antwerp. The night is soon going to fall and outside her loft the temperature is -6°. ‘Come on’ she tells herself. Keeping her spirits up, she wraps up another ordinary day and hurries to take her last line. Sniff! Hop! That’s done. With a couple of quick movements the studio is clean, the lights are switched off and the door is locked up. Dressed in tights of wool and silk, a faded pair of black micro shorts, a turtleneck jumper and a biker jacket, she folds a woolen scarf around her neck and moves along the corridor.
Outside, the cold paralyses her. Once composed in the winter elements, she adjusts her handbag on her shoulder, puts on her helmet and mounts her old black bicycle. To the rhythm of her music she rushes to pick up her two-year old daughter at the nursery. She is as fast as lightning. These streets don’t hold any secrets from her any more. The pedestrians better watch out. She even risks closing her eyes to concentrate on the music hitting her eardrums! Between two blinks of an eye she spots the designer of her Macha Harson bag. Excited by the sight, she breaks loudly and conversation sparks for a moment. Then, like a fireball, she takes off.
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