Jose saw Alfonso entering the Chicago Art Institute. He didn’t wait for the green light and passed the road slicing between the cars.
He jumped the stairs, quickened his steps, and reached him.
“Alfonso? I can’t believe we meet after all these years,” Jose said.
“Jose, my friend. What are you doing in Chicago? I thought you live in Europe,” Alfonso said.
“I did. I moved back last week. I was planning to send you an email to meet, but destiny is faster than me,” Jose said.
“Walk with me. I have to visit every gallery on the second floor to view each painting. I need to write a summary article on paintings from various periods.”

Alfonso loves art, and he is well educated in culture. He raised his main ideas in life from the land of art. He built his four rooms house in a location close to art. A pink color, to be visible, screaming its owner presence. His way of life was to grab what you want then fight to hold on it. Other than snakes, he was not afraid of anything else.
Jose was his best friend in high school. Yin and yang of the school cultural enlightenment, but they were a team. For Jose, school matter was never his front cover. But turn his book to the back cover, and you will find scars of school of life, love for many women, tips on how to make friends and spot enemies.
He has a body solid of bones, hard of muscles and soft of face. He loves sports.
A married man, marriage was the reason to settle back in Chicago, his natal place.

Jose followed Alfonso to the Art Institute. The smell of art place came out to meet his nostrils and he stopped breathing. His pair of lungs has allergy on this smell.
Phew, stinking hole of time and dead brain cells, Jose thought. I better run a marathon.
“I’m an old art sucker. I married my art. My girlfriend always said – You only lady the art” Alfonso said.
They visited together every gallery on the second floor. They stopped in the last room.
Alfonso bit his upper lip and sobbed at the Rodin sculpture of Balzac in front of him.
“This is a sculpture by Augustine Rodin in memory of French novelist Balzac. La comedie humaine, quel magnifique,” Alfonso said.
“Ohh, Balzac, I know him”, Jose said rolling his eyes. “I think I met him.”
“Rodin spent seven years to finish this work”, Alfonso said.
They walked few more steps to stop behind a well-dressed man contemplating the “Man with the broken nose” sculpture.
“I love this broken nose” the man said pointing to the bust sculpture. Jose immediately took a step back. The smell of beer and whisky brought live memories – memories of a drunk human being so close to him.
“You know, I was a fighter when I was young” the drunk man said. “Look at my nose” he said while putting his face closer to the bust. “Same broken nose.Look at my hands, man. Big hands; I hit hard.” He started throwing punches and moving around the sculpture. “Like this,” he said. Sometimes standing still, sometimes moving in circle, he was targeting the empty space with his light punches. He started aiming at the bust. The circularly movement transformed into laterally movement, left and right facing the bust. Left jab, right jab, then a 1-2. The bust was standing just slightly outside of his range. Next moment he took half a step to get closer. He stopped moving his feet. His eyes didn’t see a bust anymore but an opponent. It was a fight for him.
Then he threw a hard right straight into the bust’s broken nose. Next thing you know he lost his balance and banged his head against the table stand pedestal. The sculpture’s revenge, you may say.
“My head,” he screamed out in pain.
While a crowd gathered, Alfonso ran to the man’s aid. A sizable lump developed on his forehead. Good thing he didn’t lose his consciousness, Alfonso thought.
“How do you feel” Alfonso asked the drunk man.
“Let him rot, Alfonso. You old intoxicated bastard, better break your neck next time. From all places in the world, you found this place. And you found me. I’m cursed.
My father, my mother, and later my brother,” Jose said
“What? Your brother? What are you talking about?” Alfonso said.
“Alfonso, you know my brother. I never asked one thing from him, until he started drinking alcohol like an elephant water. It is his element now.
A place to love, a honest life, he gave it away. For what? To keep his mind occupied and away from worry.
He found a way to cheat his life. When I look at him is like watching a ‘dirt eat human’ episode of life. He can’t put a stop of it, not just by himself.
These drunk people, they are just plain people. Common habit sin in a shell of flesh,” Jose said.
“You are not going to lose your head and start fighting this guy. Too many bad words carried by your thoughts. We all have moments of losing our head: some losing their way and others creating inner worlds in their minds,” Alfonso said.

Bottle Of Ignorance – Part 1