The curator’s cold demeanor would have made even the most thick-skinned of people uncomfortable but not Henry. He kept waving his portfolio in the air until security had to firmly escort him out of the building.
That didn’t quell Henry’s self-esteem in the least and he happily continued his artistic endeavors, while friends and family tried helplessly to drop hints.
One such visit by his sister caught her completely off guard as she gaped at the sight on his roof, the most oddly painted ( goat?) abstract piece of art (as he later informed her).
A few days later Henry received a letter addressed to Occupant which read:
I’m your new neighbour from across the street and have found myself in a bit of a pickle. Currently dealing with my pregnant wife’s mood swings (which include having a vacuum cleaner flung at me), the days had been proceeding in relative calm until she happened to glance out the window and announced that she had no desire to have our baby grow up under the gaze of a ‘mutated Godzilla throwing up on himself’… I would appreciate it if you took the desired steps to placate the tense situation, for both our sakes.
Written for: Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner