Flash fiction: The ballet class
I sit on the old wooden bench near the station, waiting. The sweet smell of jasmine and a clatter of voices hangs in the air. I am thinking of Anna and how she always looks when she arrives. Through the open door of the hall across the road, I can just glimpse a class of small dancers who leap and twirl, their feathery light skirts pirouetting behind them. Anna always appears from the other direction, but if I look that way I am forced to stare into the crowd emerging from th
