Self with dog, 1997JORGE LANDICHO HESITATES AT THE DOOR. IT IS HIS FIRST VISIT TO the art dealer’s flat, and already he feels strange, in a place so calm and quietly removed, twenty-four floors up. He wonders to himself why he never thought about living in a condominium. At home his dog has the run of his small yard. He picks up scents and barks even before visitors knock, his paws make sounds like sparks across the pavement, and growling low, he pounces on the gate with his full weight and muscle.
Jorge bends toward the door, trying to pick up any noise, and is startled by a shadow behind the eyehole. The door opens and behind it is James Fojas, a man whose age is difficult to guess. He is wearing wire-rimmed glasses and behind them his eyes are quick and bright.
The flat is wide and wh
