He stared up at the painting. The robot next to him flipped her hair. She smelled like flowers. She asked him if he understood the complexities of the colors. Whether he could truly appreciate the grief, the creativity, the beauty of the art. He sighed, and shook his head. People who painted themselves as art lovers annoyed him. Really, he just liked circles. It wasn’t his fault he had spilled coffee on it, too.
by Nilsa Gibson of Medford