The story here is that my pal Wayne, who had his name legally changed to Harry, if you can believe that, found this picture in the trash and saved it from certain destruction some 20 years ago. Uh-huh. I guess a freak gust of wind just whisked it right out of my portfolio and into the wastebasket, where Wayne was lucky enough to find it. He disappeared the next day, coincidentally, and turned up in Atlanta years later with guess what hanging on his wall. The thing is, I would have given him the painting if he had just asked. Well, no, I wouldn't have, but still. When I expressed my disapproval, as would anyone, on a recent visit, he sent me a none too subtle message by taking me to a cemetery and showing me a plaque with my name on it. So I clammed up, cause I knew what was good for me.