«Высшая мера» и другие рассказы на английском языке

Or rather, I saw the ad that advertised Michael Jackson’s concert. I felt dizzy with excitement. The King of Pop was coming to Budapest. This was more than I could possibly dream of.

I was a big fan of Michael at the time. The walls in my room were covered with his pin-ups and posters, and all my schoolbook covers had pictures of Michael in various poses plastered all over them.

The moment the ad caught my eye I decided to get a picture of Michael in Budapest at all costs. I knew perfectly well that there would be hundreds of other fans with the same wish.

I also knew that Michael would be very difficult to photograph. He had signed some kind of agreement with the Pepsi Company, giving them exclusive rights for covering his world tour. But nothing would make me give up my idea.

My first task was to find out about the day and the exact time of Michael’s arrival. It took me some time and effort to learn that he was coming on the eve of his concert. I couldn’t get info about the time of his arrival, but I was told he would be staying at the Kempinski Hotel.

This first-class hotel is right in the center of Budapest, just at the end of Vaci Street, which is a pedestrian zone. Actually, the street is very short but it’s the most popular place among the tourist attractions of Budapest. The street is full of most expensive shops, art galleries, cafes and restaurants.

Anyway, I prepared everything for the arrival of my idol. I took my camera with a couple of extra films, and filled my backpack with some sandwiches, pop, and other stuff that could come in handy (like my umbrella, sunglasses, pictures of M.

J., binoculars etc.).

My plan was clear and simple: I was going to catch M.J. at the Kempinski Hotel and take a photo of him there.

I got to the hotel at about 10 in the morning. There seemed to be no one there except the hotel porters who rushed to every limo coming to the main entrance.

I hung around the hotel for some time, hoping to get more information about M.J. I was sure the porters knew something about the time of his arrival.

So I approached one of them, talked with him, and he gave me some tips on how to take pictures of my hero.

It turned out that M.J. was only coming to the hotel at about 7 p.m. so I had more than eight hours to wait. As I couldn’t trust the information, I decided to stick around. Strangely enough, I was not tired. Just the opposite, in fact: I felt better and better with every passing hour. Around 4 p.m.