He struggled, leaning to the side, as she stared at him across the room. When he realized that he couldn't free his hands he let go of all his muscle strength, letting his body limp in despair.
"I love you," she said.
Not moving any part of his body, he looked at her. Pain written, with salt and water, down face and wails began to escape her. He sat up, back to the chair, and looked at her annoyed.
"I need you," she said as she got up and walked over to him. She cupped his face and looked into his eyes, "Don't you love me?"
He said something that was muffled by the tape over his mouth. She paused and stared at him with a light intensity.
It's a new year AND a new day!
I'm slightly frustrated by the question of what is art and what is not.
Is it the artist's vision? Or is it in the eye of the beholder?
My friend is a train enthusiastic. My sent me think link after he became fed up with the people working in the MBTA (Boston's subway, bus and train systems) continually asking him what he was doing, to stop taking pictures and/or leave. As I am one who instinctively wants to destroy all that harms him, I looked at their policy (and TD Garden's because they're connected to North Station's subways and trains). Some of them where just doing their job in asking him wh