George is old school. He comes down to The Cave, often eschews the computer, plugs in his portable radio, and sits in the storage room reading. Very not feng shui, he is one of two people I trust to sit here.
In addition to the great generosity of his occasionally sitting for me, George also takes care of some building needs. We refer to the dumpsters as "His Area," because once Max was trying to tell me where something was and he said it was in "George's area." It stuck. Sorry George.
This is a picture of George being funny in His Area. See how clean?
Also George's Area. Spotless!
Also George's area. Pretty!
George posing with the garbage he finds.
George is an extraordinary human being, an artist, a musician who lived in Germany many years, who lived in India a few more, and possibly the smartest human being on earth. He knows everything, and in great detail. It's creepy.
It's the least I can do because: if Gandhi and Mother Teresa had a baby, it'd be George. Which actually could have happened. He was assassinated in 1948, she was in her late 30's, and George is in his sixties... wait a minute, why did George go to India for a year? The plot thickens!
George has a 40-hour/week job, and it's horrible. It's in a terrible neighborhood and he takes the bus home after midnight. One night after getting mugged, the guys who mugged him offered to drive him home. He thanked them after.
He takes care of his areas and up to recently took care of an aging resident who (whom?) he continues to visit twice a week no matter how far away they move her. When George took a week off from work, he spent his time cleaning the building in great methodical detail.
George never complains.
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However George did once leave this on my door as an item of interest worthy of sharing. No matter what has been said up to now about George, for this alone I am certain he is going to hell.