A few weeks ago, I found this painting of an bald eagle sitting outside by a field, propped up against a wall. No one knew why it was there, or who had put it there. It was a total mystery.
I had left it there for a while, letting it tempt me as I passed by the next few times. Then a rainstorm occurred, and warped it pretty badly.
It was now too pitiful to resist.
I took it, and build a suitably atrocious plywood frame for it, which I spray painted burgundy. It now hangs, proudly, over my bed:
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