She came for the art. He came for her.

He looks at me like he already knows what I sound like when I come.

Enjoy.

****

The coffee is shit. Not that I expected much from the White Room Gallery, but you'd think the snobs who curated this show would have better taste in beans. Still, the cup is pleasantly warm between my hands as I begin to peruse the first exhibit.

Afternoon sun streams through the tall windows, making long rectangles of light along the white tile floor. There's a few people ambling about, their footsteps making soft clicks in the quiet space. A couple stands in front of...