I picked him up about ten miles outside town. It was shortly after the 9/11 attack and I had been listening to CNN coverage on my car radio. I said, "It was terrible what happened in New York." He said, "I didn't do it."
He didn't want me to drive him home so he got out of my car at the traffic light in town and began walking west--he had seven miles to go. Maybe he got another ride; maybe not.
I miss seeing him on the road. I imagine he still walks but no longer needs his cane and his back is straight.
(My mother taught me that whatever one does on New Year's Day, one does for the rest of the year so I began this painting at 10 p.m. on January 1.)