Three times the charm. No one can say he didn’t try to get hold of Clayton. The man doesn’t answer the phone. He doesn’t have an email address. He doesn’t even come to the door. The curator starts walking back to his car, a little ashamed that he feels relieved, and then annoyed that he should feel bad when Clayton basically forced his way into the show, begging him on his knees in the middle of Honey Bee grocery store, his arms full of piñatas. He felt sorry for him—someone who’s been around the scene that long having to pack shelves at the Mexican supermarket. But pity isn’t a good enough reason to sacrifice the overall caliber of the show, and although Detroit has its share of outsider geniuses, he’s not sure Clayton Broom is one of them.The door squeaks behind him and his relief pops like a bubble. Patrick puts on a smile as he turns. “Oh, hey, Clay. ‘Hey, Clay.’ That rhymes.” He laughs to cover the awkwardness, Broom peering out at him through the crack of the door.
