That was a curbside departure area at an Airport. The time was 10 pm. Small crowds gathered around a girl who I guessed was a movie actress. They jostled for her autographs and selfies. I was wheeling my baggage past the security scrutiny man for getting my ID and ticket examined at the entrance. Ten minutes later, the artiste joined the line I was standing in to collect my boarding pass. Once my turn was over I headed toward the security check. I noticed a bruise on the arm of the young actress. She was trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. I paused briefly near her and asked if she got injured by someone in the mob outside. She scowled at me and curtly replied she wasn’t. About half an hour later, I was sitting in one of the chairs while waiting to board the plane at my gate. She reappeared two empty seats away. Forgetting her earlier scowl, I smiled at her. I could not stop myself looking at her arm again. She was peeling off what looked like dried-up reddened paint on her forearm. She told me and politely this time, that it was from her last shoot where she had to act for an accident scene with an injury to her arm. She thanked me for having noticed it when the others, her so-called fans, were just looking at her face instead of the bloody spot on her arm. I laughed away saying I was after all, after her blood where her fans fell for her face. Once I boarded the aircraft I never noticed her presence. I took my seat in the economy class and felt happy for finding a post for tomorrow's Facebook. It never occurred to me a selfie with her would add spice to the post. But I was not very keen to give a metaphorical arm and leg to take a selfie with her.
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