The Mysteries of Work
I got to look around my employer's basement today. HUGE paintings of his are stacked and silent against the walls - at least fifty of them, though they represent only a fraction of his work. I'd love to look at them, but they're well guarded by bizarre other things that lie dusty and waiting there. An ancient lamp, a long-wound-down clock, a dresser, a box of broken sculptures, a drawer of colored pencils. There's a closet that won't open, probably containing the secrets of immortality. There is an incredible amount of art there - not just his, but weird Victorian-era portraits of small children, wood carvings, prints, posters, photographs, 3D representations of their RD houses and landing sites, or whatever they're called. Everything is filthy, coated in the dust of ages. How often do they go down there and visit all the shut-away art?