A woman sits in the window of the gallery. She has been waiting for some time. Someone is supposed to come and meet her there. She took a shower today, and her teeth look scrubbed.
If a painting is on a wall, it is not waiting. The woman is surrounded by paintings, and she is as still as any of them. Yet this woman is waiting. Anyone can tell that.
She remembers for a moment a steeple she had once tried to construct out of soap. Someone mistook it for a candle and so lit it on fire. Nothing much happened, but it had still affected her. She only rarely washed herself with soap anymore. Today she had.
If a painting is on a wall, it is not waiting. The woman is surrounded by paintings, and she is as still as any of them. Yet this woman is waiting. Anyone can tell that.
She remembers for a moment a steeple she had once tried to construct out of soap. Someone mistook it for a candle and so lit it on fire. Nothing much happened, but it had still affected her. She only rarely washed herself with soap anymore. Today she had.
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