Underground subway station, deserted, except for a man who stands holding a medium-size rectangular mirror.
A second man appears. He stops to observe the man holding the mirror. After a time, he approaches the man with the mirror.
What are you doing?
I'm holding a mirror.
Of course. but why?
Can't you guess?
The second man ponders. Are you an artist?
Good. Tha't very good.
You're holding a mirror up to life.
If you like.
I see myself in the mirror.
Then it's a portrait.
I can see some of the terminal behind me.
Now it's a landscape.
It's not art. It's me.
No. You are here. Your image is in the mirror. It's art.
What does it mean?
Yes, it has to mean something.
You could as well say it should mean something, or it might mean something, or it would mean something if only. But you say it has to mean something. Why?
I think you know what I mean.
You think you know what you mean. I think I know what I mean. But I don't know what you mean, and you don't know what I mean, and if I did know your meaning, what would it mean to me, or anyone else? What you mean means very little, which is not a little idea, if you know what I mean.
I'm very tired.
Yes. Of course. I have exhausted you.
May I hold the mirror?
You may. I give it to you.
The second man takes the mirror, and stands.
You are welcome.
pause I feel better now.
You are an artist. Goodbye.
The first man leaves.
The second man is alone in the terminal. He is holding the mirror.
After a time, another man appears. He stops and observes the second man holding the mirror. He approaches...