21st Century Paris
Inside her the weather was fantastical and cold. And the leaves fell very quickly.
21st Century Paris
She realised in the simple expression of herself she had forgotten her femininity. Night after night she had drowned her in the bath. Now she wondered what colour she was?
21st Century Paris
It was sometime before she realised she was a beige person, living in a beige museum doing beige for a living. She wondered how she had got trapped into it.
21st Century Paris
On weekends she’d go to parks and shift chairs, sometimes as people were about to sit in them. She’d target the elderly mainly. Occasionally she would try and move the benches. And fail.
21st Century Paris
Before the chair shifting there was the carousel: the thrill of moving while you were moving. However people were inevitably seated before the ride began and she was never in control of the moving.
21st Century Paris
After carousels and before the parks, there were churches. The elderly and chairs were in unlimited abundance. And, if timed correctly, chair shifting in churches had the extra bonus of a confession. Bless me father for I have sinned. Sometimes the congregation would turn up to a spectacle of chair shifting. A mass rally of chairs scattered willy-nilly around the church; on the nave, in the isles, on top of the alter. It has been 1000 years since my last confession. Pure chair carnage. It is better to do it whilst the organ plays.
21st Century Paris
One Church had the good sense to nail their chairs to the floor. Nails, nails, nails. It was in the blood. Another instituted a wooden stripe to bind an isle of chairs together. It was then she moved outdoors. Alleluia.
21st Century Paris
On the whole she found the process of chair shifting very therapeutic.
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