hanger at the museum
On that Saturday afternoon the museum was open for free for everyone for a special show. That hanger at the museum was ready, in the now remote city to get tickled by all those tops, jackets, coats and hoodies from all over the world. It was in a funny mood for colors and linens and suedes, saris and kimonos and. It dreamed of a velvety turquoise of a beautiful tall woman; it was sick of those black characterless trendy jackets. It looked for a Singapore or Japanese made style kimono that had covered the slim shoulders of a diva, or that had been previously worn by a grandmother of a refugee, or an ex inmate who had promised to visit that museum once born again, or that migrant student whose first visit was today or that foreign artist whose work was showing on the rear end of the last floor but that had advertised it to all his relatives in the village of another continent.. that hanger was so excited today..
What a whimsical and funky Saturday it was going to be for the hanger; it was hoping that it would not rain, for the feel of wet wool was a sticky feel… then it thought how wonderful it would be if 2 lovers escaping a workshop would again end their long day at the museum. It would love to get some proxy-passion feel toward closing time.. they would both be escaping reality for a short hour at the museum; usually their tops would be tangled in a blend of perfume, love and hot passion. On a clear day words of love would still be resonating from the seam of their collars toward the neck of love.. and so it goes that the hanger would keep their secret forever before they leave each to their home and never meet again. The hanger received their tangled coats with a wink wink, whispering that their secret will be kept forever in safe “hands.”
On that Saturday the hanger would anaerobically collect bits and pieces of unfinished episodes, to be edited later during the nights of the lazy weekdays to come where barely anyone museum visitors show up, except for those old men who were enjoying their almost free memberships, and who would mostly come to the museum to shelter from the rain away from their vacuous schedules. Take it easy you! Shouted the hanger to the not so welcoming cloak clerk who was getting tired and starting banging the garments onto out friends, for the lack of tips. Move I want to see who is the carrier of this lacy jacket.. I wonder if she had made it herself.. or was it her mom in the Czech republic. How beautiful this sari… oh.. I wonder .. love love all this collection of stories will keep me busy all of next week on those not so busy afternoons.. l How enchanting and beautiful life is in this city..
