After almost forty years Jack Quin decided he had enough.
It wasn’t so much that he disliked his job, as that he wanted to enjoy his retirement while he was still a relatively young man. Jack decided to sell up and move away, perhaps stay with his brother in Cody for a bit, and then on to Mexico, who knows.
He had lived his entire life in a modest house in Springs, NY. He was born there, and when he was twelve, he earned his first cash painting Mrs. Krasner’s fence. Ever since that moment he knew he wanted to be a house painter. He seemed good at it. And while he liked the company of his neighbors, painting their houses gave him quiet satisfaction, plenty enough for a man of modest ambition. But now he had enough. It was like he had suddenly woken up from a very long and dreamless sleep.
And so, one day, Jack Quin was gone. His neighbors didn’t see him for weeks and started to wonder if he had been in an accident. Or worse. Old Mrs. Krasner finally went to the house to check up on ‘young Jack’, as she still called him. She took the key from under one of the old paint cans and unlocked the door with typical unbothered determination. The house was cold, and Mrs. Krasner immediately felt an unforgiving chill. She opened the curtains and froze. What she saw then, was something she would never come to understand. The house was empty. It was like nobody had ever lived there. Empty, except for one thing. In the middle of the living room stood a ladder. Jack Quin’s ladder. The one he had used his entire life when painting his neighbors’ houses. A ladder covered in paint splatter. A ladder without purpose.
Solid Ash Wood, Hand-painted
W 218 x H 46 x D 18 cm