This part of the gallery seems quieter than the rest. A few people occasionally emerge through the red curtain to get something from by the front door and then disappear back through it again. Four times, people arrive through the front door, and I think for a moment that they might come up to me in the booth, or they might say hello, or ask me where they should go if they’re an intern too, but they just go straight through the red curtain and don’t seem to notice me. I sit still anyway, trying to look professional, smiling at everyone even when they don’t look at me—smiling at the backs of people’s heads, even—and clutching hold of the tickets in my hand.

At one point, a man bursts through the red curtain and bats it with his hands as it falls back in his face, as though its presence is a nuisance. I recognize him immediately; it’s the guy who took me to reception, the guy who looks like a vampire. He is followed closely by a large group of people who then huddle around him, holding various things that look like they might be his belongings. Some of the people are writing notes, while the blond woman who gave me my instructions whispers in his ear. The man nods occasionally in response to whatever she tells him, and then orders the other people around. Some of them go back through the curtain, and the others stay with him while he stoops down to look through the glass at the kittens having their tea party. Eventually, the group moves down the corridor over to where I am in the ticket booth or puppet theater or whatever it is and faces me. I open my mouth, about to speak, but someone farther down the corridor beats me: “Sorry, Gideon. Your coffee. It’s here.” One of the people in the group hurries off and brings the coffee to the man. He accepts it, not thanking anyone. I hadn’t realized earlier, but the man is the director of the gallery. I’ve seen pictures of him before, but he looks different in real life. Now, he looks at me with an odd, cold expression, like I’m not here.