It’s the spoon.
It’s a wee bit out of true, the spoon. Had it been perfectly aligned with the fork and the knife, the photograph would have been fine. But the spoon makes the photo more alive. More lived in. More fluid and flexible. It’s the spoon. It’s always the spoon.
The spoon is a rebel. A noncomformist. The spoon is a temptress–those seductive curves. It doesn’t care about order or logic or tradition. We’re lucky the spoon didn’t convince the fork to trade places.
Neo was wrong. Sometimes there is a spoon. Sometimes it all comes down to the spoon. There’s a reason the Dish ran away with it. It’s because the spoon cannot be resisted.
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