The projections on the floor were making me dizzy, but I tried concentrating on my croissant. I didn’t want the art to ruin my breakfast. I was alone among the art projections by unknown artists. The only single table among couples and families at a new event space not far from where I lived in New York City. It was meant to be a permanent installation of rotating unknown artists with the art projected onto the walls and moving on the floor as people ate coffee shop food.
“If you would just move your head. Just move,” I heard a woman say to me from far away. But it wasn’t far away. She was tugging on my purse. “Move because I can’t see.”
“There’s nowhere to move,” I said without bothering to look at her. I planned to get my money’s
