Her overlong fringe kept coming down.
She pushed it upwards a few times, then stopped bothering about it. Her speech was fabulous, she knew that.
She had emphasised what
she would have said, the artist, back then. The one she had taken her ideas from. The one they all owed it to. Entertaining, diverting, funny, the papers would say.
The audience pleased, she had let her thoughts crawl back to her fringe. What the heck.
© 2011
Emma