I was standing in an art gallery. Staring at the wall. Actually, it was a corner. The point where two walls connect. The walls are the same color. But, the way the light shines over here makes one look darker than the other. It’s the walls to my left. The one that stretches back into the gallery. She walked over, stopping beside me. She was trying to see what I was looking at. She spoke, suddenly but expected. Still looking at the wall, she said, “They make great listeners. Sometimes even better than people.” I turned my head to look at her. She was a few inches shorter than me, which is tall for a girl. I held my left hand out, and asked for her eyeliner. I was back to staring at the walls. She put the black pencil in my hand. I walked towards the lighter wall. I started to write, “A listener by The Romantics. Undated. Grey paint on concrete.” I took a step back, then turned to look at her. She was reading what I wrote, admiring it. She took the pencil back, handing me her lipstick. The lipstick was a dark red, the same red as her cheeks. I later learned that she never blushes. Using her lipstick, I drew a border around the description. My own nameplate. It was done. She told me to wait, as she took out her phone and took a picture. “Perfect,” she said. Taking my arm, we left.