He looked for her but could not see her at first. She was standing there sort of right in front of him, like a cowboy without a horse and with a flower and a paintbrush in her holster.
Why hadn’t he seen her? She was standing there, in the mist. But still?
She tried to get his attention, waving the paintbrush in front of his eyes, tried to get him to smell the flower.
He felt the sticky paintbrush touch his chin, and then he saw more of her. He tried to hug her but she looked over his shoulder and smoothly she avoided the hug. He would not give up, now that he had found her he would not let her go, not let her run not let her hide.
She tried to pass him the flower instead of the brush, now regretting the missed hug. He did not know what to do with the flower, he blushed, put his hands behind his back and said something.
To her?
To himself?
He was thinking; here am I talking to a lady cowboy, as tough as they come but I am not sure anybody else but me can actually see her. What am I then? Who can see female cowboys with no horse but with a flower and a paintbrush in her holster, what am I?
What is she doing in such a big city, this is no place for a horse.
“But she does not have a horse”, a voice whispered in his ear.
That’s right! What is this? Who is she?
Why do I see a lady cowboy? Why do I want to hug a lady cowboy?
More importantly, why doesn’t she want to hug me?
Maybe I should try to get to know her first?
“NO!”
I know her already.