Bill: “Hot day.”

Jill: “Yes, it is. Of course it’s not really the heat that gets  you.”

Bill: “No, it’s the humidity.”

Jill: “Exactly.”

Jill (again): “You know, I actually don’t care that much about the heat. This happens every Summer since the first Summer, and it bores me to talk about it. I think we only discuss it to fill up that empty space that occurs when two people look at each other, whether on purpose or by accident.”

Bill: “You’re right, of course. How did you know you could say that to me? That I would not be one of who rolls their eyes and looks around desperately for someone else who is willing to just chat for the comfort of familiar words?”

Jill: “I don’t know, really. Maybe it wasn’t that I did know. Not for sure, anyway. I think I just decided to risk it. Rolling eyes is better than stale talk.”

Bill: “So where to now?”

Jill: “How about why that painting on that wall makes me feel so cold?”

Bill: “It could be the colors. So many shades of blue and grey. The dark shadows, too.”

Jill: “That. And the path. I first focused on its beginning. But it’s the end of the path that makes me feel a chill.”

Bill: “I can’t see the end.”

Jill: “No. It sort of just disappears rather than ends. And rounds off as though there is nothing after it. Nothing. Just wind and rain and the feeling that you can’t turn around. Ever.”

Bill: “So here we are in this terrible heat, and yet feeling so cold. Because of this painting.”

Jill: “It’s the abstract that is real to me.”

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