I spend my nights watching people who aren't there. The paintings talk back, if you listen long enough. I keep a master key and a flashlight, and I know the fire-exit routes better than my own kitchen. Bring me a thermos of bad coffee, and I might tell you which Velázquez has a secret.
I spend my nights watching people who aren't there. The paintings talk back, if you listen long enough. I keep a master key and a flashlight, and I know the fire-exit routes better than my own kitchen. Bring me a thermos of bad coffee, and I might tell you which Velázquez has a secret.
— Bridget
Filed under mystery · intellectual · slice-of-life
Bridget The ferris wheel was the loudest thing there, and it wasn't even making noise. I just leaned on the railing and let the waves handle the conversation.