She saw art everywhere she looked.
Because she made a point of looking, turning her eyes skyward and crouching to examine the world beneath her feet.
A slick of hasty graffiti, unfinished by a panicked arm in a flash of blue lights. An impossible flower growing where it shouldn’t. A crack in a building that resembled arms stretching for a roof patchworked with moss. A child with cheeks the colour of strawberry cordial, their breath fogging like sugar-spun clouds.
She saw art everywhere she looked, and it reflected back on to her skin, painting her face with radiant joy.
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