The Shopping List

A budget few can imagine, he intends to treat himself, do one of those things, a twenty million dollar budget, peanuts really, he sips the end of the coffee, the room is conditioned, the air changes every five minutes, he is in the art gallery auction room, he has been eyeing a particular painting, wants to have it on his wall, view it as he takes his morning coffee, at home. The sales assistant has an MBA from Stanford, and a hundred other qualifications. Her couture is french, it goes with the heritage of the artist she is selling today, it’s a done deal, she is just a Maitre d. His mobile pings, he purses his lips in a happy way, strolls down the screen, a dab hand, he flicks to the email, he is a kind man, rarely self indulges, it happens to be his birthday. The news is good, a friend is recovering from a life changing illness, he closes the device, Ms Couture approaches, one final look she says, as she leads him to the showing room, where the packers are about to crate the new purchase.

He never sold much in his lifetime he says, referring to the original artist, one of those reclusive types, his life being all art, as all he did was convey messages with it.

Beautiful she says, standing back, I’ll miss it when it goes she adds, looking at the four by six, painted three hundred years before.

I’ll make sure it goes back to you when it’s time he says. She is surprised by the words, what does he mean, is it a present for a later date. he looks at the expression on her face, she is wondering at his words. He shakes his head.

“Everything in this life is borrowed, one day you have to give it back. Nice to look at though over a good coffee”

So much for the shopping list….

 

 

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