He thought these things as the waiter walked by with flutes of bubbling champagne perfection on a tray. He sucked his teeth in frustration while standing in front of an enormous piece of wall art which had caught his fancy.
Shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet in black suede Stacy Adams he looked up at the spread of colors creating a part abstract, part nude figure image. In his being he found a calm and comfort standing there, as it was clear many of the other gallery guest had mixed opinions on the piece. Yet he stood there in awe of the piece feeling the relief he had felt the day he escaped to the church alter to pray.
He processed the use of color, the curves of the figure, even the strokes of the artists brush, as he over heard a woman make a comment regarding the work he stood alone in front of. She ran off at the mouth spewing words of disgust for the piece coming off as someone with a holier than thou complex to his ears.
He felt his body tense as if the comments were directed at him. He glared over at the woman seeing her smug face and arrogant attitude she had no idea what this possibly meant to the artist or even the amount of work involved.
He sensed himself growing frustrated remembering his vow to change when a flash of seeing himself break a canvas over the woman's head screaming bloody murder caught him. He closed his eyes trying to hold it all in.
Standing still he opened his eyes only to make a B-line to the gallery exit past the woman who had made the comment that ignited the fire within him. He gracefully grabbed a flute of champagne off a passing waiter's tray downing it and exiting the gallery into the open air of a fresh spring night.
He took a breath filling his lungs to capacity and holding it for three beats and blowing it out. He began to slowly feel relief walking up the block away from the gallery. He looked to the sky only wondering what could have happened and how grateful that it hadn't.