Stuff of Dreams

The smell of fluorescent-green lightbulbs in square panels, along one entire wall, is strong, tingling the hair of my nose with an electric mix of glass and plastic. Air-fresheners though, speak a different tune, humming at each entrant. Lavender, they say.

Walking down the narrow corridor, my friend leapfrogging by my side, his panting-croaks making me giggle, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor, I slip on my vision bending 3D glasses.

Mid-sentence, a girl with a purse stands frozen, her shoulders against the wall, spine bent at odd angles. A boy in grey converse, his hair a shock of hedgehog spikes, mirrors her posture. They look bored, uninterested, dark shades glued to their faces, sending signals of ‘buzz off’.

The Arcade of Strange Postures and Gravity Defying Antics; I know, I know, it’s a mouthful but that’s what attracts the hip crowd, is steaming.

I pause and watch my froggy friend leap his way forward, then I bend, touch the floor and sprint. A runway unfurls and I drop to my knees sliding - gliding. The stench of sweat and shoes and excitement hits me.

I spread my arms wide and take off.