Andy Warhol Fiesta Pig

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‘You don’t mind, then?’
I HAVE A HORSE.
The old woman peered around the stranger. In the yard was the most impressive horse she’d ever seen. Her eyes narrowed. ‘And that’s your horse. is it?’
YES.
‘With all that silver on the harness and everything?’
YES.
‘And you want to work for sixpence a week?’
YES.
The old woman pursed her lips. She looked from the stranger to the horse to the dilapidation around the farm.
She She waited.
‘I expect you have a name, too,’ she prompted.
YES. THAT’S RIGHT.
She waited again.appeared to reach a decision, possibly on the lines that someone who owned no horses probably didn’t have much to fear from a horse thief. ‘You’re to sleep in the barn, understand?’ she said.SLEEP? YES. OF COURSE. YES, I WILL HAVE TO SLEEP.‘Couldn’t have you in the house anyway. It wouldn’t be right.’THE BARN WILL BE QUITE ADEQUATE, I ASSURE YOU.‘But you can come into the house for your meals.’THANK YOU.‘My name’s Miss Flitworth.’YES.

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