The curator strolled about, irony that flutters is the element that she recompensed sought out by her articulate fondness for egregious taste.

Bellowed by her ambivalence and discretion for creativity, marveling is her occupation.

While curating perplexed anagrams to dubious people, she finds herself a pastel on a canvas observed and scrutinized.

Her ganders are indelible, her vivid tone reverberates passive introvert pleas.

Her occupation is not that of herself, it is a vagueness she paraphrase everyday.