I stood in the back as the performance artist spoke to the audience. Her pale Irish skin and short black hair was cropped sharply in contrast to her long, languid curves. She spoke for 20 minutes about the end of a relationship with a man who'd been funny and witty and kind at the start only to later become an ogre who mixed a salad with his fingers in a diner outside Zion. And then he grew to become a villain as he left her for another woman and thanked her for setting it up. Her vengeance was this talk which molded the opinions of 100 strangers listening from folding chairs in a room meant for ballroom dancing into a single eye of judgement. They laughed. They flinched. They shuddered in disapproval.
