But then, the painter could have been anyone, too. Mel snapped a picture of the back of the painting and then we were finally on our way.“I’m hung...y,” I announced, as we made our way to the exit. We still had at least eighty percent of the museum to go, so that would have to wait until tomorrow, at the earliest.“It’s not even three o’clock.”“I didn’t have lunch!”Mel often skips lunch when she has art on her mind. Me, I like a painting as much as the next man, but I like sandwiches too.We went. It was either me being home or the money. Bev stopped arguing with me because if I quit the jobs she couldn't have some of the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. I was lucky if we had sex once a month. Other than shooting my rocks off, I felt no love from Bev. Maybe I wasn't giving any love either but I guess maybe I didn't see it that way at the time.In my career as a cop, I'm not going to say I didn't get a little on the side now and then. It did happen. Whenever I got home and my. More

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