Why is she looking at us? We didn't do anything. Unless, of course, these paintings are actually taken from an instruction manual for a race of telekinetic lechers. This has all the standard unreality of Frahm-world, and then some - not only has her underwear deployed, but she's dropped everything - a package, mail, a narrow bottle of ketchup (whose trajectory indicates it passed through the side of the bag) and, of course, her purse.

The leering man in this tableau is a kindly father figure who takes an innocent well-land's-sake delight in her mishap, yet simultaneously feels his old dry kindling start to spark. Behind him is a rarity - another woman who observes the scene and laughs in sororal treachery.

I don't know what the container on the right might be. Take-out from some joint that specialized in bloody dog meat, perhaps. As befits the curious physics of a Frahm painting, it's hit the ground and spilled before anything else was halfway out of the bag.