SoHo, New York
A conversation between two transgenders outside the famous Gallery 102 in the middle of SoHo, New York 1985
“He could have seen his death, well, kinda of. With this funky new technology coming out at the moment, this new idea to track your movement…y’know, before you make a move…Precognitive something…micro Satellites, little ones…
“And what happened darling?”
“Couldn’t predict the idea in time, no…” She rubs her fingers together instituting cold hard cash. “…money! Gets on a airship, it crashes into the Himalayas.”
“So how does it work?” Her friend asks.
“Early warning, sees the event, weather, war, whatever before you…It’s all computers.”
“I think I’ll take the risk…”
“Hola! You couldn’t afford it anyway, only for the wealthy.”
“Let’s go back inside sweetie, cold out here…”
Both transgenders stub out their cigarettes and walk back into the galley.
“I love this…this image, it’s like it’s alive.” A man says admiring the spectacle of colors, depth and form that radiate from the canvas.”
“Thank you,” the artist says as he lifts the wine glass to his lips, sipping. “You have to destroy reality…I mean it’s the one thing that we have as a…shall we say…gift as human beings…At the same time re-create reality, which is life. That is art. My art. Beauty in the real and abstract with all it’s dimensions.”