I was hanging with l0cke, an artist I knew through third parties and years-long admiration, at some party in some trashy apartment on some fifth story of some city's shadier bits.
He was drunk. I was drunker.
His girlfriend was out on the porch having a smoke and we huddled around his laptop, lit-up by the glow like the nerds we were while everyone else danced to Russian techno. He was showing me stupid internet videos and I figured now was the time to tell him that nothing, nothing, nothing I'd ever seen by any other artist from any other century in any hushed, huffy museum had buzzed the sensitive bits of my brain as much as his drawings. He smiled and he blushed and he said thanks. Then I poked him and told him his website's archive had been inaccessible for months and could he fix that already please?
He looked at his girlfriend through the sliding glass door and said, "Well, these things don't last very long anyway."