One summer evening, a month shy of his thirty-first birthday, on his way from the Upper East Side to a gallery in Chelsea, on an old turquoise Vespa he used to get around the city, a cab that had run a red light hit Tim’s back wheel, sending him and the Vespa into a midair tailspin, leaving Tim in a medically induced coma for five days, due to massive swelling of the brain. When he awoke, his sister and parents were there, by his bedside, waiting, hoping to muster the words and the courage between their heaving sobs to tell their sweet boy the horrible news.
