sedrick

I worked in a very fancy pastry shop. The walls were sort of a pastel red and there was lots of gold trim. Lots of sunlight streamed through the large front windows. The shop was owned by a guy I know. He had a big hole in his forehead, about the size of a lemon. It went all the way down to his brain. There was a Wes Anderson museum a few doors down to the left of the shop, and I was excited about getting off work and visiting it.

I was a popular artist, and some high-end museum had commissioned some work. I was going to take some tree roots and cover them with paper mache. But somehow all the supplies for my artwork ended up in this black guy's car. He started driving off with them. So I hopped into my car and chased him. I followed him all night. Finally he stopped for gas at a convenience store. As he was inside paying, I hastily piled all the stuff from his car into mine and then got in my car and floored it back to my studio. Then I wrote a letter to a friend, telling her what happened.