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.