One day, your favorite piece of art — a famous painting or sculpture, the graffiti next door — comes to life. What happens next?
“For God’s Sake,” I shout at the giant naked bronze guy loping around my garden. “Put something on! You can’t go running around like that!”
It’s already too late. I can hear the sirens getting closer and I know those evil neighbors are getting me back for all the nights when my dogs barked and wouldn’t shut up. I glare at Bonnie. She grins.
“Quick, hurry,” I urge him. “Here, take this shirt. It should fit you.”
It doesn’t. The bronze guy is huge. The pants are hopeless too, even though they are a very copious pair of pants … big enough for me and a couple of good friends. Finally, in near despair, I throw him a blanket. He harrumphs and plunks his butt down on the big rock by the garage.
“Just stay very still,” I tell him. “Pretend you’re a statue. Better yet, act like you are thinking. I’ll deal with the cops.”
It turns out he is very good at being a statue. He had years of experience. He likes it so much, he remains there as I write. Sitting.
And thinking, I’ll wager.