December 12, 2008
The red painting hangs, was hung, is hanging. It’s like a brand on the wall which is gray and weary. The paints are rich and thickly applied. The hues look like they might drip down on the creamy white carpet below. It is a room with splotches of colour here and there. There are red roses. A red couch. It looks like a place recently abandoned by a horde of people. Dishes with remnants of dinner on them are still on the table. The place suddenly smells of curry and rice. The door opens as someone enters. They’ve left.