He was compelled to bring her back through me even as he knew what damage it did. It reminded me of the powerful cravings I had to smoke even though I...knew it would slowly kill me. He paused hoping he had said enough. Realizing he hadn't, he nudged the request forward tentatively, "Would you mind..." a pause, ".. maybe grabbing some things..." a pause, "of your mother's ...?" I nodded, stopping this painful display. I was gaining nothing from having both of us tortured. I told him I would meet. One evening after reading yet another pompous art critic lambaste his works, Dougray came to the inevitable conclusion that perhaps the true purpose of his art was to provoke a response no matter how visceral or mean-spirited. Maybe, he thought drunkenly, he was more provocateur than painter. An early winter’s night wrapped San Francisco in its brisk, crystalline embrace. Earlier that day, a light and cleansing rain had fallen, dampening the streets but not the spirits of the people who lived. More

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