I started thinking about turtles all the way down. I was thinking that maybe the old lady and the scientist were both right.
Like, the world is billions of years old, and life is a product of nucleotide mutation and everything.
But the world is also the stories we tell about it.
Mychal turned off Michigan at Tenth Street, and we drove for a while
until we reached a pool supply store with a flickering backlit sign saying ROSENTHAL POOLS.
The parking lot was already half full. Daisy stopped the music as Mychal pulled into a spot.
We got out and found ourselves surrounded by a weird mix of twenty-something hipsters and middle-aged couples.
Everyone but us seemed to know one another, and the three of us stood next to Mychal’s car for a long time in silence,
just watching the scene, until a middle-aged woman in an all-black outfit walked over and said, “Are you here for the event?”
“I’m, um, Mychal Turner,” Mychal said. “I have a, um, a picture in the show.”
“Prisoner 101?” “Yeah. That’s me.”
“I’m Frances Oliver. I think Prisoner 101 is one of the strongest pieces in the gallery.
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