Crush stared through the museum window. His tiny apartment had only one redeeming quality. Through its tiny kitchen window he could see into the museum across the street. His view was ever changing as the collections came and went. In November a madness overtook him: he would help the Arts escape. No longer would they be trapped behind the glass and velvet rope imprisoned. They would run free through the streets and ride the subway below. By December he was nearly feverish with this mad dream. If only he could stretch out his arms and gather up the paint and canvas. Then he would fling them up in the air like doves at a wedding ready to shit on the guests below. In April he marched up the stone steps – just one of the masses. He grabbed the first painting he saw and made for the door. He made it to the top of the stairs before the guards grabbed him. The painting fell to the steps and the gilt frame broke littering the sidewalk with golden splinters.
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Copyright 2019 Klaudia Grady