The gentlemen at the bar in PD O’Hurley’s are regulars. They are eager to bond over talk of local sports teams. We have been discussing the Jets and the Giants when I mention I am from Canada. The one man says “well, my real passion is the Rangers.” Thinking we are still talking football I say “the Raiders?” He looks at me like I’ve just insulted his mother.
The “Ghetto Wizard” punches one of his waiters in retaliation for stealing a baked potato for his lunch on New Year’s Day. Denying the assault he asserts “If I had punched him he wouldn’t be in any shape to stand here in court today.”
It appears at first to be a map of an unidentifiable place. But if you turn it the right way so that light shines through the hole you can see a human skull and other remnants of an excavated grave. Patrick chastises me for painting on found objects. “That’s become so stale,” he says.