“I found my inspiration in my papa too. Back in ‘78, my young spirit days, I spent my afternoons
down at his house. He would always cycle on his exercise bike, while he told me about his life
in World War II. He told me about my mother, Anja, before she passed.” Art swallowed. “I have
his words saved on my tape recorder, from each and every afternoon. And not one went by
without him scolding me...Bitter old man. Wonderful, just wonderful time in Queens.” There was
a chagrined smile. A hollow laugh.