The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree as I was here for an art history degree. Before the sun had risen we’d packed his work van, a cherry-bomb-red-and-cobalt-blue block-letter billboard that read, How’s Your Art? O’Brien’s Fine Painting and Furniture Restoration. I would have preferred driving the 436 miles from Canton, Ohio, to Greensboro, North Carolina, in a subtler, neutral-colored vehicle, but Dad liked the idea of free advertising. That’s the way they like things down here. The little voice inside my head kept warning me, but I didn’t pay much attention until it was too late.ĭEEP FRIED AND PICKLED, my dad said as he parked the car in front of Grogan Hall at North Carolina College. Instead, I followed a nagging feeling about a painting that turned into a full-blown compulsion to uncover a fake. Admittedly, the wealth of knowledge I obtained from my nine-month south-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line experience at North Carolina College wasn’t overly focused on academics. However bucket lists don’t always unfold the way you envision. My four-year plan included getting an art history degree, losing my virginity, and partying-hopefully not in that order. "There are no good girls gone wrong, just bad girls found out." ~Mae West Prologue
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