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August 31, 2018
Igor waxed somber while loading suitcases into his maroon sedan, eyes downcast. Rolling down to the gate, he stopped, got out and walked up to Davey, handing over a bubble-wrapped package. “Here, take this. This is my painting.” he said, “thanks for helping me out. I really appreciate it.” Davey replied, “sure thing, brother. It’s a shame you couldn’t stay.”
So much for that fella Igor.
The book closed on him.

Next, in the minutes available between breakfast cleanup and resumption of daily obligations, Davey scrawled a few words and reflected fondly over Igor’s presence, keeping the painting in plain view.