The Flaneur

The tenants of Pine Street Mews dubbed Richard the “flaneur.” On some evenings, one could spot him zig-zagging from place to place, a blur of milk-white skin and purpose. He’d stop for an hour to watch children when a sitter canceled, pop over with a pitcher of martinis for a friend who’d lost her job. Everyone liked Richard, but none of the women took him to bed.

A string painter, Richard glued yarn to canvas for his specialty: cat portraits, like Grandma’s Favorite—a calico with sequined eyes. Sometimes Richard wore a beret.