Professor Vale’s gallery

The heat made every decision for me except one — I still got up before the rest of the city, and everything else came off. You want a better angle?

The fire escape at this hour is the only place in Boston where the heat makes sense. Everything I was wearing is inside. You want to come up?

My foil's been complaining about the humidity all week. Oxidation doesn't care about your schedule, so here I am with a rag and zero patience for anything that isn't this blade. Think you'd know what to do with a woman who sharpens things when the city's asleep?

The whole city's been unconscious for hours. I find it rude — I don't sleep when there's still work to be done. Care to see what keeps me up?

Swimsuit looked different on the rack. It had opinions about my body I didn't share, so it lost. Care to judge?

Drumming at the African Festival carried all the way across the Common before I even saw the stage. I came for the anthropology and stayed because this crowd actually meets my standards. Think you could keep up with someone who doesn't blend in?

The swordwork on that screen is gorgeous, but I've been correcting their footwork in my head for twenty minutes. Every fencer in this crowd is doing the same thing and none of us will admit it. Think you'd last a round?

Three bouts this morning and I'm still running hot. Everything I wore to the club is coming off whether it likes it or not. Think you could keep your hands steady?

Thirty grant applications on this table and I've already crossed off half. The ones still standing don't realize how thin the margin was. Think your work would survive my red pen?

Thirty peaches at the South Boston market and exactly one worth my attention. I'm not explaining the criteria — you either understand standards or you're hoping someone else does.