A Story About Museums

The box was an old microwave box with a faded star burst on its side; it was red with the words “perfect for your mother’s meatloaf!” in italic bold.

It sat in the pedestrian tunnel, by the man-made lake with no swans (not the man-improved lake with two swans) right in the middle — halfway across — against the wall with painted clouds, angels, harps.

Every now and then a gray blue cat would steal some poor kid’s toy and leave it in the box. When it was overflowing with rattles and stuffed dogs and a baby that shits and sweet little blankets, a woman in a yellow rain jacket emptied the box into a big, black trash bag. She took the toys back to her apartment, cleaned them, listed them on eBay: "Toy lot: items abandoned in a tunnel, donated to the shadows, sacrificed to the gods and goddesses of light, found art”. The lot sold within the hour.

The next day, a little boy peeked in the box and saw bleeding bird bodies, mice with dangling heads, a couple of snakes limp with death, one large rat with its torso ripped open, its beady eyes still staring at the fading angels on the wall.