Today I fell in love with a man who appeared at my gallery at 9:27 am in the morning offering to help me. He was quiet, but confident, listening about my failed attempts to install the frames levelled on a wall. After I finished telling him, he nodded, bent down towards the paper on the floor and asked for a pencil. I gave him a blunt pencil from the back pocket of my jeans. He drew a few lines with it, and then quietly asked:
“You don’t happen to have a sharpener nearby, don’t you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I have a pen.”
“It’s okay.”
He keeps drawing and I am quietly walking around, looking at the several small frames on the floor and thinking of possible solutions to get them straight on the wall. Suddenly he stands up, excuses himself and says he will be back shortly. When he returns a few minutes later with a sharpener, he takes my pencil from the floor, goes near to the bin, and sharpens it. He returns, bends back towards the floor, and smiles at me.
“I’m just particular. I like my pencils sharp.”