It had been so long since I last saw her,
and there she was,
tall and thin as ever,
slightly hunched
and very drunk.

Queen Britta in all her glory,
draped in a thick woolen gray dress,
despite the August heat,
a yellow rain jacket atop it
like a crown.

She glanced at me,
then swayed past like the wind.
“Hey, Britta!” I called,
but she pretended not to hear,
muttering to herself as she stumbled away.

That was the last time I saw her.
The last time anyone saw her
until the night the coroner examined her body.