In dispelling the myths of old His house had been made sacrosanct

Jukeboxes jewelry and trophies Adorned the long corridor

The large Jackson Pollock that hung above the mantle Reminded him how we were all random strokes on a canvas fighting for space

He whispered in Latin “Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.”

Which meant “Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death”

The hand on his cane then tightened.