A guard at the museum approached me today, a Margaret Foster. Cute. Very flustered. She explained that the guards had a wager concerning my uninterrupted string of visits to see WHN. (Confirms my belief that I would be the prime suspect if WHN were to simply disappear. A replica is imperative!) Of course, they wanted to know why I found WHN so interesting. I offered to explain it to Margaret over coffee, after the museum closed. Unclear as to why I suggested such a thing. Because she used the word “wager”? More likely, since my revelation, I’ve been aching to explain everything to someone. I didn’t tell Margaret of my intentions to steal WHN, but I did carry on in a most flamboyant and embarrassing fashion about Duchamp and WHN, and how it was a crime against humanity not to shake it every now and then, since Duchamp had intended it to be heard. And I told her that I wanted to know what was inside. She asked me some difficult questions: Marcel Duchamp didn’t know what was inside, why should you care? Isn’t the mystery part of the point of the piece? If you found out, wouldn’t you ruin the artist’s intentions? She’s right. Smart girl. Must re-examine my rationale for the theft. Perhaps I would not be fulfilling Marcel’s wishes?
As we were leaving, Margaret asked a favor. Apparently, she won’t get the money she’s won until my streak of visits is broken. She wondered whether I would mind skipping a week, or at least not coming on Tuesday. I agreed, but asked for another coffee date in return. I was afraid that my initial ranting about Duchamp might have made her wary, but she said yes. And smiled when she said it. A very nice smile. Beautiful green eyes, too.