It was a sunny afternoon in Madara, Bulgaria—the kind of day that whispered, “Do something weird.” Nina, never one to ignore a whisper, decided the train tracks were the perfect place for a solo dance performance. Her playlist? Birds chirping like backup singers, a distant train horn adding suspense, and a goat bleating from a nearby field with the rhythm of a confused metronome.
She began with a gentle sway, then escalated to twirls, hops, and a breakdance move that looked suspiciously like she was dodging imaginary bees. The local stationmaster, halfway through his third coffee, blinked twice. “Well, that’s new,” he muttered. “Better than last week’s harmonica duel.”
A curious crowd gathered: two schoolkids filming on their phones, a man with a bicycle who seemed emotionally invested, and a stray dog who immediately joined in, tail-wagging to the beat. The goat wandered closer, bleated once, then headbutted a flower for dramatic effect.
Nina twirled with flair, narrowly avoiding a patch of wildflowers growing between the rails. She high-fived a daisy mid-spin. Then came the grand finale: a cartwheel so ambitious it defied physics. Her hat flew off, landed perfectly on the dog’s head, and somehow made him look like a jazz conductor.
The applause was thunderous. The stationmaster clapped. The goat bleated twice—possibly in approval, possibly in protest. The dog barked once, then bowed.
Nina retrieved her hat, gave a theatrical bow, and walked off the tracks like she hadn’t just turned a quiet village into a flash mob.
Moral: Dance like no train is coming—but maybe check the schedule. And never underestimate a goat with opinions.