Paintings on white walls. Still lifes and abstracts. A bottle of wine with a single glass. Lines and circles of different colors on black canvas. He walks to each one and looks at these pieces of art. French windows open. A cold breeze blows into the loft.

A cup of tea sits on a stool. Best Dad In The World is written on his mug. A gift of a long time ago from a son who now sells used cars in Omaha. At least that’s what the old man heard.

Jazz plays on the public radio station. Hank Mobley makes his saxophone sing. The artist stretches canvas across the back wall. He looks at the blank sheet. He walks away. Drinks more hot tea, holding the mug with both hands, hugging it. Holding it tightly. Covering the phrase on it. He drinks the last sip and stares at books on a shelf.  Where The Wild Things Are. His son’s favorite story. Max and his royal rumpus, the monsters joining in. He used to read the Sendak classic to his son. Now, he’s married and has two kids. At least, that’s what the old man heard.

There is nothing coming to mind. Only memories of a past life. He takes the mug and throws it against the brick wall. It shatters. He leaves broken pieces on the hardwood floor.

The kid had the potential to be a real artist. Just like his dad. At least, that’s what the old man heard.