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BY SIMON MADSEN
Her dog pulled its lead. “Wait Mimmi, wait!” a woman yelled to the only three months old puddle. “My fur coat is going to be dirty if you pull me out to the verge, and as you also can understand won’t my 1000 pounds shoes be very fine after such an experience,” she said to the dog with a certain voice like it understood what she said.
The owner of the puddle is a woman in the middle of the thirties. She is the owner of the local jewellery shop and she has a dead certain opinion about her status in the city. She is the leader. She knows the people who are good to know. She has contacts to some of the most powerful people in the city; the mayor, the managing director of the bank, and other people who have the possibility to pull the strings. And she can manipulate with them as easy as it is to snap one’s fingers. And she doesn’t use her manipulation to something well, no; it is for her own best so that she can concentrate the attention on her.
The puddle was intensely concerned about a lamp post and at the same time the woman stood and looked at herself in a shop window. “Look at my skin,” she said, “isn’t it horrible? It is completely crinkled,” she complained. “I’m old!” she shouted. “But fortunately I’m not as old as those people right over there,” she pointed at two people in the fifties across the street.
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