(feel free to ignore, but I couldn't resist) red string of fate
73 - Our muses are destined to fall for each other in an art gallery.
James didn't quite 'get' modern art. It was one of the reasons he was glad to find out that the current exhibition at this particular gallery was supposedly a 'slice of Americana', which was at least something he wouldn't have to stare at for twenty minutes before being able to comprehend where the face was, or if there was even a face and not just a grouping of pain splattered triangles meant to symbolize human torment, or whatever the hell.Fiddling with his pocket square (what the hell was it for anyway? it wasn't like you could blow your nose with it, which made it useless in James's estimation.) James walked on, standing quietly behind groups of three or four socialites, social climbers and a few lost hipsters here and there as they took in the different pieces that lined the otherwise stark white walls, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.As he came up to a black and white piece, fairly small compared to some of the others, James smiled a little, his eyebrows coming together contemplatively. The landscape was in ways foreign to him, a child of skyscrapers, dirty alleys and scraggly city parks, but parts of it recalled a place on the other side of the planet, where the ground was so hard that men grew muscles just to till soil for crops. It gave James a strange kind of smile. He looked sideways at the man close to his right, and then looked again. Nearly like a funhouse mirror, but it didn't unsettle James like it might have, like maybe it should have. Instead he grew curious, almost against his will. "So what do you make of this shit?" James asked him quietly, raising an eyebrow with a bemused smile.
