It’s an iced-coffee day. I take mine to an indoor table at Chango since I hope to read and write and I find the lively conversations out of doors too distracting, colorful as they are. The walls are bare, the Bonaparte show having just been taken down. The Weekly has just arrived, and in it I find one of those three-walls of the mirror moments when I flip open to Seven McDonald’s article The Other Art Tatum. The “other” Art Tatum of this article is a dog, who is the pet of the musician Guy Seyffert. It’s not just that I am at Chango (where I usually have my dog with me) reading about someone who comes to Chango with their dog. The article is a mini-portrait of the neighborhood, where people walk their dogs in Elysian Park, meet because their dogs are friends, take their dogs to Chango for coffee. Name their dogs after musicians.

While I am reading about Art Tatum a pair of silver-haired men stride in briskly, each with a painting in hand. They move rapidly. No nonsense. They go in and out, making perhaps a dozen trips, their pace steady if hurried. You’d think they were loading munitions from the highly focused expressions on their faces. On the Weekly’s calendar pages, I see that there is an art-show opening schedules for Chango this Saturday evening.