Something happened to me today that has happened to me an alarming amount of times in my life. It’s difficult to explain.

But first, the context: thanks to the vacation calculator on my HR platform, I discovered that I had to use up sixty hours of vacation before the end of the year or risk losing it forever. I don’t really want to go anywhere right now, and I don’t have that much money. I do however, have some intimate friends I love to see, so I came out to Colorado to see one. Another reason I decided to come here was my sister is here, and I have presents.

For breakfast my first day, I sat down in a greasy spoon diner, the kind you have to go out west to find. The waitress called me honey when she took my order. She engaged in a loud and animated conversation with a fellow waitress about menopause. Later, the second waitress yelled into the kitchen, “Hey, Pablo! You know Men at Work? The band! Liz and I are going to see them next weekend. The band!”

I ordered chicken fried steak with two eggs over-easy, wheat toast, and hash browns. It was delicious.

Emilie and I hung out on the couch my first day, until we moved to a coffee shop called Corvus. She informed me that Corvus offered a class in pour-over coffee for sixty dollars. While I formulated an opinion on that, my mouth delivered a standard disclaimer, “Look, I don’t want to judge …” I paused because my brain hadn’t caught up yet. Emily’s latte evacuated her face through her nose, and she laughed hysterically.

This is a very relaxed vacation. This is why I came here as opposed to New York.

Today, after a walk in one of Denver’s many beautiful parks, Emilie found me an art supply store. Because it opened at noon, we stopped at the best coffee bar in Colorado, apparently, and were greeted by the world’s most eager barista. When he finished my smoothie, he turned and asked me, quivering with joy, if I wanted whipped cream on my berry smoothie. I considered it and decided no. He accepted my choice with a shrug and a grin. Our drinks were made with two pumps of sincerity, and you could really taste it.

After another stop in a park, it was noon, and we drove out to the shopping center where a large, flat building, covered in colors, waited. And this when I entered familiar territory. For some reason, I don’t know why, I tend to wander into art galleries when I’m not expecting it. There are worse Eldritch horrors than “Suddenly: art!”; but you can’t deny it’s weird.

There were five galleries, with names like “Edge” and “Core,” and they each had their own approach to art. One gallery was full of parasols. Another had tiny little pieces, another had vast, geometric canvases. There were sculptures, collages, paintings, jewelry. One place had merch, including stickers, but they were all of babies wearing dark costumes, so I passed.

I started conversations with two attendants, which is not like me at all. All of the galleries are different, but most of them were co-ops. That meant all of the attendants were artists, and they had a lot of insight in the process. One of the attendants even encouraged us to play with his sculpture.

There was another gallery/tattoo artist in the complex, but they were closed. There was also a store, called “POP Culture,” that I investigated, only to find it was a Funko Pop store. Wall-to-wall Funko Pops. I fled. Funko Pops are an invasive species, and they appear where they are not invited.

Maybe one day I’ll understand how art just kind of sneaks up on me, but until then, I might as well see what it has to say.