Working on a new, large painting.
Soon after moving into our neighborhood, I was walking up the street when I heard someone shouting for help. I ran to find a man named George, who was probably then in his early 80s, stuck in between the rungs of a ladder, trying to get into his second window. His brother had accidentally locked him out, and he was afraid to move and cause the ladder to slip. I helped him down, got the window open, then walked downstairs and opened his front door. I recall the house was packed with books and things. George and I talked a while, and he explained that he used to work for Pfizer in town, giving dogs coronal ligations (artificial heart blockage), and they were testing the drug that eventually became Viagra on them. It was a funny story. George owned several properties in the neighborhood. Since then, I gathered that George was somewhat of a property baron, and was a neighborhood personality. George passed away a couple of weeks ago, and just today I saw a crew filling dumpsters at his house.