Art

I haven’t bought groceries in two weeks.

That realization makes me wonder how I function. I honestly don’t know. I buy breakfast in the morning at a Market called “The Market.”  The coffee there is horrible. It takes like watered down coffee, coffee made not from love but by spreadsheets and profit/loss margins. And the food is bad too, come to think of it. I actually, you know, why do I keep going there?  Eh, it’s cheap and it’s on the way to work. I drink my coffee and eat my food on the train even though eating and drinking are prohibited on the train. I do it anyway, partly because I’m hungry and partly because I like to break at least one rule per day.  That’s the only rule I break every day.

Last weekend, I went to the Hirshhorn. Do you know where that is?  It’s my favorite museum in DC. I don’t particularly like museums. It’s visual art. I don’t have the patience for them. I see a picture, I look at it, I don’t particularly care. It’s not that the picture isn’t impacting. It’s not that pictures don’t have weight. They do. It’s that, well, I’m sort of slow, I guess. I wouldn’t call myself stupid. I would say that pictures, visual art, takes a level of analysis that I am neither gifted at nor interested in. I can do it, and I think I do it rather well. I just don’t like to. That’s why I go to the Hirshhorn when I have the chance. I am trying to force myself to be better. I’m working on being a better person, dear reader. Not in any deep way. Only superficial, as in, gaining the ability to look at something and say honest, important and relevant sentences about said thing.  Anyway.  Behold. Art.

 

 

 

I went with one person I knew and three people I didn’t know but grew to know rather quickly. We walked from the National Monument to Chinatown and enjoyed the city.  And, on my way home, I marveled at the strange fact that I used to be a little boy from a small town that no one has ever heard of.

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