(Editor’s Note: This post was first published on 15 November 2014.)
I just came back from Little Italy. I bought a small package of chicken drumsticks at the supermarket for my crock pot and then I stopped at Armand’s for a couple of beers. I sat on my high stool at the bar next to the big window and watched Liberty Avenue. The sun was bright on the avenue and I knew it was around 32 degrees. Winter is on the way to The ‘Burgh.
A college football sports show was on the television at my end of the bar. I remembered that Pitt played later today.
Tony Cacalano came into the bar. He’s older than I am. He’s in his 80s. I’m 68. He is also a recognized fine arts painter. I’ve seen his paintings in a gallery on Liberty Avenue and on the web, very much pop-abstract. Vivid colors. I like his work. I wish I could afford to buy some. It would be a good investment. His paintings use to sale for thousands of dollars. I’m not making this up. Google him. Now his paintings sale for only around a hundred dollars or less. But he keeps painting because he’s a painter.
That’s who he is. That’s what he does. Tony is one of my heroes.
Tony and I talked. I got a six-pack and caught a bus to get back to my workstation and to catch the Panthers on the radio. I refuse to get another television. I get so much more work done without a television. And besides, I have my computer.
Hail to Pitt!
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Vietnam War Veteran