here's a mystery too. i thought yesterday maybe i should have retrieved this ben murray painting from the trash in harold washington park. i did not love it and decided a picture was enough to tell the story. which is there is no story. which is a mystery. which leaves me wondering, why was the painting smashed and ripped and abandoned thus? it's likely i shall never know, though to someone there is no mystery. every mystery i spose is banal and unmysterious to someone, and most others, and most mysteries are so to me. but i went back to see, and i like the mystery more than the painting, which was still there, face down now, and so i left it be.