Kolli
I was smiling.
It surprised me. The cold December air hit my cheeks as we walked toward the gallery entrance, and Danilo was half a step ahead of me, hands shoved in his leather jacket pockets like he was nervous. But I was smiling.
It felt dangerous, like if I let it get too big it would break.
I remembered the first time we found this place. We were twenty-one. My birthday. Hans had sent money. Too much money, with a very strict note that said 'take Kolli somewhere fancy, he deserves it'. Danilo and I had looked at each other in our tiny kitchen and made the exact same decision. We saved most of it. And with the little bit left, we decided to spoil ourselves.
We weren't even looking for art. Danilo was looking for cheap beer. We got lost, turned down the wrong street, and stumbled into this gallery by accident. Cracked marble floors. Paint peeling in the corners. One room that smelled like old paper and turpentine.
It became ours.
Every weekend. No matter what.
