A Big Head, Take Two

Primary Jazz Duo I had just finished hanging my work for the show at the theater when the gentleman who lent me the step-stool returned. He looked around the giant room, with my paintings now adorning the semi-exposed brick walls loosely patched with white drywall. "Well," he casually observed, "that definitely gives this place a different look!"

Curious about his comment, I tried to remain optimistic. "I certainly hope for the better," I responded.

"Yeah," he went on, "at least I can tell what it's supposed to be."

He said no more.

After I realized that was the extent of his commentary, I felt the distinct tiny pop of a pinprick, as any shred of confidence I had prior to that moment passed into the air with a slow, gentle leak.