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The reverse is also true. Sometime a museum reminds you of a zoo. At the end of the day, when the exhibits close and patrons are rushed toward the door, there is a sigh of relief throughout the building. In the human zoo, after the public clears out, the gallery attedants go back to nit-picking and preening, and checking their "My Space" accounts and their imaginary "friends." The curators toy with a mouse that has entered their cage. The gray-backed director sits regally in his tire swing, flinging feces.

I glide through on rubber soles, unoticed. A slab of horse meat goes to the prep crew, a bucket of oats for the secretaries. Lights out early, and there are a million eyes in the darkness. Tomorrow is another day.

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