backforthmenu Lunatic. His name was Leo. He lived across the hall from me in a building dominated by studio apartments. I’d leave for school in the mornings and his door would be wide open, bed directly in view, Leo asleep in it. No covers. Just underwear. He worked in the neighborhood. Some days he’d see me on the street walking home from school with my big black portfolio, leave whatever he was doing and come talk to me. He wore paint-flecked white overalls, and had a long black ponytail busting out from under a tight white cap. A black beard hugged his face, muffling his speech. “Hey Andy. You know, I’m a painter too.” “Yeah?” I wasn’t a painter, I was an advertising design student. “Yup. But I’ll tell you something... the houses, I don’t pick them... they pick me. They call out to me; ‘Leo, paint me, revive me.’” I’d nod and say, “Yeah.” The guy scared me. “You know, I gotta tell you something else,” he paused for a second, thinking of how to put it. “I was around when Jesus was born. And when the Roman’s spread their venom across the earth... I was there too.” I could not get to my apartment fast enough. “And I was by Hitler’s side.” At this point he got distracted and stopped. “That’s the one,” he said, looking across busy 6th Avenue. “Gotta go.” He ran across the street and stood in front of a white Victorian-style house.