“Is that the Mona Lisa?”
I took a sip of my wine, savoring the flavor on my tongue. “Of course not. Like I could afford the Mona List.”
“But it looks so real.”
“It’s just a copy. Like the Picasso, the Van Gogh, and the Manet.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “Yeah. A copy.”
She was like all the other women I’d brought home. She’d spend the night, and then be gone. Because I was a pretender. I collected copies of artwork, and displayed them in my cheap apartment. I wasn’t the rich man she wanted.
But the night would be fun. And in a few weeks, I’d bring home that painting from Degas I’d had my eyes on. Like the rest, it wouldn’t be a copy, but the real thing, though I could never admit it. I savored more of my wine. The advantages of being a museum caretaker were better than anyone thought.
“Technology lets them make really good copies these days, doesn’t it.”
165 Words
@LurchMunster
I wrote this for Rebekah Postupak‘s #FlashFriday, Week 29. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #Flash Friday. They are good reading.
My Soul's Tears 