The Museum Between Errands. AI-Generated.
I didn’t plan to find art on a Tuesday that tasted like burnt coffee and bus exhaust.
I was rushing—phone in one hand, tote bag in the other—doing the kind of adult choreography that looks graceful from far away and feels like dropping plates up close. Groceries. A forgotten form. A stop at the pharmacy. The day had no room for beauty, I told myself, which is usually the first sign I need it most.
