I've come back for one more update. Mr. S. died last year. Its been so long since I was writing this that I think its best that I try not to eulogize.

Looking at all this, it won't be difficult to figure out who he is if you really look into it, but my concealing names is still... I dunno, a formality? I never asked for permission to write this, so it seemed wrong to divulge names of real people, even when obvious.

To his family, if you ever find this, I hope you won't be too upset with what I've written; maybe you'll even like it, I don't know. I mean, you all know him better than the glimpse that I repeated here. If you would like to contact me for any reason, please feel free to.

I found this old blog from years ago, and realized that I left it without an ending. I was fired not long after the last post. Mr.S said it was because I was not driven as a salesperson; he might have been right but I can't help but wonder if it was more that he just didn't want to keep me long enough to deal with taxes, because that seems about right for him. Being fired meant being unemployed again... for a while. Before too long though the company I had worked at previously as a concept artist gave me my old job back, and I'm still in New Orleans. I still walk by the gallery once in a while on my lunch break; I don't go in but I take a peek through the windows. I haven't seen Mr. S there in a while, not sure if he's finally retired or...?

As much as I may still gripe about work sometimes, I have to say that working for Mr. S took the cake for bad jobs. Mr. S was about as complicated as human beings come. He was usually intolerable to be around, came from a background that seems deplorable yet makes sense given the time and place he came from. I still can't help but give him some sort of... I don't know, not a pass, but I just don't want to condemn his memory. He was so human; surrounded by this gallery of treasures which was a monument to everything that he built up in his life, yet so fragile as he slumped at his desk in the middle of it, seeming to defy time to do its worse, cussing and spitting in the face of fate even as he slowly succumbed to it.

I can't help but think that this story has something to it, though its not what I thought it would be while writing it.