The art gallery was full. It was a community of artists that had all been invited to put their hearts on to display. It wasn’t only about skill, although skill was appreciated, instead it was about what was inside of each of them. There was room for everybody’s efforts and below each work of art there was a red book with a pencil for feedback. Everyone was invited to participate and no one was turned away. Well, the one guy who kept trying to hand out pamphlets to his curry store in India was turned away but just for soliciting.

I liked to watch people stroll through the gallery and drink in the different styles. It was best if they were in small groups discussing their taste and what they found inspiring.

Every once in a while, someone walked through, glaring at everything. Even though they had different appearances they had similar reprehensible behaviors. They muttered to themselves in a sinister fashion, vandalized the books and broke the pencils underneath each painting.

Why did they come in at all?