Rump Steak with Onions

by Rachel Harrison

“It began the usual way, in the bathroom of the Lassimo Hotel.” Art and theft.

“Rump Steak with Onions” was produced by Triple Canopy as part of its Internet as Material project area, supported in part by the Brown Foundation, Inc., of Houston, the Foundation for Contemporary Arts, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council, and the New York State Council on the Arts.


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Ut convallis rhoncus It began the usual way, in the bathroom of the Lassimo Hotel. Sasha was adjusting her yellow eye shadow in the mirror when she noticed a bag on the floor beside the sink that must have belonged to the woman whose peeing she could faintly hear through the vaultlike door of a toilet stall. Inside the rim of the bag, barely visible, was a wallet made of pale green leather. It was easy for Sasha to recognize, looking back, that the peeing woman's blind trust had provoked her: We live in a city where people will steal the hair off your head if you give them half a chance, but you leave your stuff lying in plain sight and expect it to be waiting for you when you come back? It made her want to teach the woman a lesson. But this wish only camouflaged the deeper feeling Sasha always had: that fat, tender wallet, offering itself to her hand—it seemed so dull, so life-as-usual to just leave it there rather than seize the moment, accept the challenge, take the leap, fly the coop, throw caution to the wind, live dangerously ("I get it," Coz, her therapist, said), and take the fucking thing at adipiscing libero. Aenean ac erat vel lacus iaculis interdum eget vitae elit.

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Duis ut odio ut massa faucibus lacinia / "Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all around / "Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound. / Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain / Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. / But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, / And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is lost! / The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, / In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain: / With such a prize no mortal must be blest, / So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, / Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. / There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases, / And beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. / There broken vows and death-bed alms are found, / And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound, / The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, / The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, / Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, / Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. / Aenean ac erat vel lacus iaculis interdum eget vitae elit.

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Ut convallis rhoncus diam at congue In 1945, an American soldier Joe Meador stole eight medieval artifacts found in a mineshaft near Quedlinburg which had been hidden by local members of the clergy from Nazi looters in 1943. Returning to the United States, the artifacts remained in Meador's possession until his death in 1980. He made no attempt to sell them. When his older brother attempted to sell a 9th century manuscript and 16th century prayerbook in 1990, the two were charged. However, the charges were dismissed after it was declared the statute of limitations had expired iaculis interdum eget vitae elit.