When my father left me the message with his address I knew it was time.

It has been a long time since I have sat in the same room as my father.

Today as I take the car up to the fiftieth floor, his penthouse suite in Washington DC, I know I am done hiding and he is done waiting.

Doors open, with a familiar painting greeting me as I enter the passage way.

The red and blue splashes, twirled around a half naked form reminds me of the man I left a few hours ...