If he’d had more space, he would have added another line.
As it was, the size of the first line pretty much dictated how large the rest of the lines would be.
If he’d reduced the size going down, well, that wasn’t possible.
He passed this doorway every day, and it was about this point in the walk to and from work where he was at his most low.
It wasn’t his fault the dog had died.
It wasn’t his fault he nearly burned the building down.
None of it made him a bad person.
And he did like himself.

Photo: Cicero Ave. and Washington Bl., Chicago, 1983