I turned to the second photograph. It was Guernica again.

It was vandalized again, but this time by someone who had charitably done his handiwork on the photo instead of the picture itself. Now a speech cloud with a tail, like those used in comics, emanated from the pointed tongue of the horse that dominates the works central panel. It spanned most of the painting in length, this time covering the mothers face and sparing the childs

. It contained seven words, written calligraphically in red: Equestrians know I felt as if the espresso had exploded in my stomach, sending reconstituted coffee beans in all directions, like a napalm bomb. . . Murder.