Scottie

I once meet a man in NEW YORK CITY named scottie, he told me of his scotish family history and growing up with a addict mother in Hell's Kitchen. He yelled about things only he knew of, and sat with me for an hour. He gave me a beer and I drew him a picture of him in return. He asked me to marry him because he liked my red hair. He was loud, crude and so very kind.

I will probably never see him again. I made his drawing into a screen print when traveling in Scotland that same summer.

So now he can go all over the world.

So he might be remembered. Scottie my friend.