13 years ago, I heard about a forgery. The story came to me in bits and pieces from a museum director. Or, I should say, a former director. Many refer to him as the disgraced director. I first met him past midnight, two days before Christmas in Bar Británico. Any of you who read my blog for those years will know that the Británico was my regular hangout. I couldn’t write about him then or about those he told me about.
Years have now passed and this man (my friend, I want to say) has also passed.
I must get these words out before I, too, might pass away. I can’t promise a logical narrative. We don’t have time for that, and it didn’t come to me that way.