Two artists

On the plane coming back from San Francisco, there was a very mischievous child sitting next to me. His mother was sitting on his other side.

He started playing with clay and throwing it around. Some of the clay landed on my pants.

I said to his mother, “He will be an artist.”

The mother said, “How do you know?”

I said, “I am an artist.”

Then I went to sleep. Otherwise, I would have had to enter into conversation.

— 2 October 1986