While walking down Forrest Street during this past summer, I’d often see an open garage door. Inside was a man in bright shorts with a large, black beard with many paintbrushes. He’d usually be standing near a wall working on a tapestry filled with fantastical nude creatures.

On occasion I’d stop by to see how they were coming along. Sometimes he’d be meticulously working in the borders. Once, while repeating a floral pattern he turned to me and said, “I can’t believe I started doing this to myself. These borders take a lot.”

“They’re worth it though.”