by Donna K. Fitch
Copyright 2011 Donna K. Fitch
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"They're angry this week, Fred. Do you think anyone will look at them?"
The security guard grunted and scratched at something on his belt buckle, rattling the keys dangling nearby. "I dunno, it's a football weekend," he answered. "'S where I oughta be."
I folded my arms and cocked my head for a better view of the painting, although I knew it by heart. "Art feeds the soul," I reminded him. I meant it literally, but Fred doesn't pay much attention half the time. "Football feeds ... well, I'm not sure what it feeds."
"My wife, I hope," he said with a snort. "I got money on that game. Alabama by a touchdown. How come you don't ever play the pool?"