“sneak underneath the city of Indianapolis to attend a guerrilla art show?” “A what?”
Okay, so remember how I had that idea for Mychal to make those photographic montages of exonerated prisoners?
“Well, it was mostly his i—” “Let’s not get lost in the details, Holmesy.
The point is he made it and submitted it to this supercool arts collective Known City,”
“and they are putting it in this one-night-only gallery show they’re doing Friday night called Underground Art,”
“where they turn part of the Pogue’s Run tunnel into an art gallery.”
Pogue’s Run was the tunnel that emptied into the White River that Pickett’s company had been hired to expand,
the work they’d never finished. Seemed an odd place for an art show.
“I don’t really want to spend Friday night at an illegal art gallery.”
It’s not illegal. They have permission. It’s just super underground. Like, literally underground.”
I scrunched up my face. “It’s like the coolest thing ever to happen in Indianapolis, and my Just Friend has art in the show.
Obviously don’t feel obligated to be there, but . . do be there.”
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