No listener

No story lives unless someone wants to listen.  The first time I told the story it was to a person working alongside me, a captive audience used to my meandering tales, but, to be fair, it had been an interesting event worth the telling.  The second time it was to a family member who was only interested out of duty, supportive but, although slightly honed, not critical of my storytelling skills.  And I was ready to tell the tale on the third telling, I had sorted the order and the development.  But you weren't there to listen.

A male nude figure with other words, or...  on their jollies they would have had the time to view an exhibition or engage with some art, and art has power, it has the power to transform, illuminate, inspire, and it has the power to illicit a viceral reaction.  Perhaps, a viceral reaction to the reaction of others to art, an annoyance or outrage that they viewed the art as an object of curiosity, not understanding its true power.

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