This week’s photo prompt is provided by Singledust. Thank you Gina!
Ginny leaned over the balcony.
Down in the street below their flat, the road was filled with the ting of cymbals, the rapid beat of drums. Someone let off firecrackers, their light bursting and winking in the windows across the street, casting fleeting shadows from the concrete bench, the litter bin and street lamps.
At the centre of the party was the lion, its huge spiralled eyes batting killer lashes, teeth clashing, yellow fur swishing at every jump and stomp, glittered brows and tongue catching the camera flashes, flashing them back.
She loved this snippet of East Asia cut from its home, pasted into small town Buckinghamshire – Chinese tradition edged in by stockbrokers and BMWs.
She leaned over to Carl, shouting to be heard above the din. ‘What year is it now anyway? Rooster?’
But he was chatting to the waitress from the restaurant downstairs, their heads almost touching, his hand hovering dangerously close to hers.
With Carl it was always the Year of the Dog.
To learn more about 2017, the Chinese Year of the Fire Rooster, see here.