
Then one day, not too long ago, as I approached the parlour, the unusual happened: the judgments didn't go whizzing around my head. In this open, opinion-free zone, I looked into its window. It wasn't just a tattoo parlour, but an art gallery. Not only that, it had on its wall a framed print that I loved. I went inside to inquire about it, only to be told it had sold the day before.
