“I already have a plan,” I tell him. “And I can’t scrap it.” “Well, you don’t need to scrap it,” he counters. “Simply adjust.” An undignified huff escapes me. “What you’re proposing is not an adjustment. It’s a 180-degree turn.” “I’d call it ninety,” he says. “We both know you’d flourish as an artist anywhere. Pratt’s not the only art school with world-renowned teachers or classes.” It’s with great reluctance that I’m willing to admit he has a point.
When I tell you my boy is playing CHESS
