A white cube full of tortoise shell sunglasses, oxford cotton shirts and woven ties that square off at the bottom. You’ve always hated coming to these things.
Tracy leads you around the gallery, pausing every so often to let your eyes cast over each canvass. One painting catches your eye: A trapeze artist floating in midair, hands reaching out to grasp at something just out of sight.
“Y’know... I’ve never gotten a lot of this stuff. Is this one supposed to look so much like that old Degas painting, the one about the circus?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you, Kip. Just act natural and keep moving before someone spots us.”
“Okay.”
A door leads you onto a staircase, you both climb until you reach the top. The rooftop has an unspoiled view of the Battersea Bridge. Tracy is stood behind you now, placing her fingers in the small of your back and she ushers you towards the edge.
“Can you do me a favour, Kip?”
“Sure thing. What is it?”
Can you get both of your feet on that ledge.
“Okay.”
You climb up onto the ledge. First comes a shove, then your legs give way. The ground below approaching fast. One thought rushes through your mind.
“Maybe Tracy was right about everything...maybe I am losing my touch.”
