The man had spent all day in the revolving door, going round and round. I eventually asked him what was happening.
“It’s my comment on things,” he explained. “Life.”
I usually find it best to allow these people their little freedoms. But my curiosity was aroused; I asked him to elaborate.
“This door,” he indicated, continuing his revolutions, “is neither an entrance or an exit. Or it is both, depending on how you look at it. Do you see?”
I had to admit I did not.
“Most doors are like that,” I said. “Even normal ones are used for entering and exiting both. According to the situation.”
Well, you can imagine his reaction. I fear I will never understand art.
