Passing Bulgari's plate glass window today I saw hovering among the jewels a man so sad, so broken, that even I would not give him the time of day, much less a dime. Peering more closely, yes, it was me. So like Horace's art, today's shop windows mirror our nature. And it is so hard to see ourselves in them. You have to stand just right. In imagination, I am inside, a shadow buying extraordinary jewels for Sukey Tawdry, my true love. Dead these many years. A phantom shopping for a phantom.
Comments
You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.