“Its a museum. The city and the water reminds me of a Rembrandt piece that was in display.
its was solitary little mill on top of a tiny body of water. There was this one guy in a boat, rowing. And a lush little forest in the background.
"And the more people kept on telling me about the painting, the more enthralled I was. How much doubt it created, you know people didn’t believe Rembrandt had any part in the process of painting it, they thought it was understudy, or maybe a lover. One of the curators just hated the piece because it was a pain to move it from D.C to Istanbul.
“Hey, some of them are smart.”
“ I don’t know, didn’t whats-her-face say that Nambia was in South America in 'Extra’?”
Dom and the girl stepped inside the bright commercial sanctuary that was a 24-hour pharmacy.
Each aisle, perfectly aligned with products of necessity, medical need, or the arbitrary whims of societal over-gratification. The girl buzzed to
stationaries and picked a plain manila holiday card.
The girl hugged Dom tightly, and the same way that she had left the bar earlier in the night, she left Dom in the corner, holding a card to the unheralded.
Dom could not sleep. He had to kill time until midday, but sleep did not seem to be a realistic endeavor. Instead he sat in his living-room, staring a the card he was supposed to give to the inhabitant of 17G. Dom acknowledged his madness as he paced through his apartment, he mumbled to himself and then asked why he was talking to himself
outloud. He 'googled imaged’ Rembrandt’s Mill, saw that an exhibition was coming to the city soon. Was it perhaps too early to set up a date? Dom did not know, but he knew that the clock would move faster to 11 am if he busied himself or slept.
By 8:30 Dom had accomplished to read a script that was sent to him for a future role in a superhero project. He readied himself, shaved, showered, cooked a simple breakfast, and brushed his teeth.
The doorman dismissed Dom’s tantrum and continued to persuade Margaret to go home.
“Margaret, please you can go later, he’s a crazy
hollywood type playing a sick joke..”
“Charlie please let me go and talk to him, I know who he is.” Replied Margaret forcefully.
whithered, some fresh. Row after row, each headstone sat cool and untouched. Dom and Margaret kept walking past the heft of death and its objective symbolism.
“Well here she is.”