45 degree turns

He sings about acceptance as his sister paints loud strokes and light on a screen. Two lights burn  brightly on each wire hanging from the ceiling, then three or four at a time, each one bopping ever so slightly, making little dancing shadows on the floor. The tablecloth on the bench sparkles from the light, they tell me stories of everything she's painted before and the time before that. People are smiling and drunk in these stories, and she fills in all the spaces in the web, they're the in-betweens between notes and half breaths and side step shuffle shuffle,  life lines in red, not green, squiggles and dips and peaks and p200 event related potentials when does perception begin and end and start again and she blows a steady stream of smoke through her lips to finish the effect. She shows people in the crowd the hidden lines underneath the black light in the painting, but they need translators to understand what she's saying. A couple dances on and on. And at the end you can reach your hand through the canvas and turn the knob around and around but instead of clicking sounds you hear clothes shuffling and cigarettes embers lightly bouncing on the ground and bare feet clutching the concrete, shivering from the wind chill. They loved each other in each of these stories, and that's all that matters.