So on our way back from Wine, the appropriately named wine bar where Layla moonlights, I talked Oliver into checking out these two galleries Mr. Lucky told me about. I described him as a middle aged, yet surprisingly ageless, exquisitely dressed in 50's fashion to look like an undercover secret service agent, or maybe something out of Get Smart. Oliver didn't believe me, he thought I was making up stories about my imaginary friend, but then, on our way back to the train, (I shit you not) who should round the corner but Mr. Lucky! So I said, "Hey Mr. Lucky, it's you, Can I take your picture?" He said, "Okay kid, but make it quick, I got places to be..." then he hoped on his magic moped and sped off.
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