I’m asked whether I “need help” several times, and decline politely each time... Phone rings again and I fumble it from my pocket… “Need he...p?" giggling, "Fitting Rooms, third door along, quick” Passing an elderly gentleman, I slip into the changing rooms, and tap on the third door along.With a click the door opens slightly and I glimpse your dark hair reflected in the mirror… you grasp my wrist and pull me inside, closing the door behind me and pulling my face down to kiss me, your tongue. It’s too late to be here. Too late to be surrounded by all these dead people and their dead things. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the job, bigger museums had offered her jobs with better money and more prestige, but she always turned them down. She stayed because she wanted to be with the collection. But on nights like this, alone, in the dark, it was too easy to think of the building as her own tomb. She felt like one of the slaves buried with the old kings, tending the dead forever. Someone. More

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