they say that vincent van gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought the colour could kill his sadness. you test his theory one afternoon, sitting on the fire escape outside the art block. the paint on your hands is flower-bright; it tastes expensive, tastes like metal. you sit and you taste the paint, and you are no mad artist, even if you feel like one. even so, you feel different somehow. the world feels lighter, the air warmer. maybe it's because acrylic paint is unfit for human consumption. maybe it's because it is beginning to work.