23 February 2014
Every day on the streets of Ljubljana there is a secret war happening. A war of styles, a war of tastes, a war of limits. Each time a girl puts on her outfit and leaves the safety of her home, she enters a war zone. Her attitude is her armor and her eyes are her weapons of choice. As she walks down the street she encounters other soldiers and thus the battle begins. She glances her opponent, first to see if she is even worthy of a fight. If she is, the next step is to find a weak spot. Weak spots are usually in the details. Pants too tight? Can’t walk in high heels? Skirt’s hem is on her knees? Her ass is showing? No? Everything looks perfect. Damn. Keep searching...
Bam! Smudged mascara!
Roles her eyes a little and uses a sly smile as a final blow to her opponent. Yet again. She’s the winner of this mysterious war, hidden behind women’s eyes.
She meets her fellow soldiers in a fancy bar on top of the city. They order cocktails in victorious colours and spend their time gossiping on all the wounded soldiers they had encountered on their battlefield throughout the day. They look and analyze each other for weaknesses and give each other useful tips on how to get rid of them. The ones with a pure heart give an honest opinion and the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
But there are also the ones who are secretly fighting against their own infantry. They will never give the whole truth. Something will always stay hidden, just in case, they ever need to fight their own.
It’s a cruel world we’re living in. But that’s how it is.
No tears! Tears are for boys.