Date Night At the Tate
Her voice sounds like she’s speaking through a fan when she whispers. She always whispers when we stroll through the colossal Tate. She’s cautious and quiet in case the art may
be eavesdropping. It all seems silly to me, Van Gogh had a hard enough time hearing when he was alive.
Hedging my bets, I say “I bet I could have painted that sunflower” just in case Vincent’s good ear is listening in.
“I bet I could kick your ass,” he whispers back, with a voice so tired, like he’s heard this all before.
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