Art has always been a hot market in New York, though lately it seemed to be in overdrive. Especially so within the mob community. Some called the sudden surge a fad, but that wasn't the case at all. As explained to Julius, the biggest reason behind all the rage was due to the easiness and usefulness art had in rinsing money. There was no real formula to tell you how much a painting was worth. Its worth was whatever someone was willing to pay. 

Thus, no one would bat an eye if Mister So and So overpaid you for a piece that really isn't all that special. On paper, you made a fine investment. That was it. No one was really buying anything and if they were, it definitely wasn't a signature work of art worth a fortune. Yet, like with all convoluted investment schemes, there are many among us that fall sucker to the game at play.

There was a recent break in at a local art museum. Likely, a young street gang looking to make a name for themselves and profit like the rest of us. On the contrary, the latest stunt had put a halt on all the trades. For they had stolen a painting done by none other than Eustache Le Sueur.

A month had passed since the story broke out of the thievery and many auction hosts of the underground was desperate to get their audience back. They had even gone out of their way to have connected individuals followed simply to send them invites. And Julius was no exception, despite never attending one to begin with.

As Julius was taking the ferry to an island off the coast of New York, an older gentleman approached him on the top deck and asked Julius if he knew of Balanchine, the great Georgian-American dancer. "Balanchine was mad. You need a little madness to make great art" he said.

He resembled Charles Sellon, only older. His name was Edward. 

And for the next thirty minutes Julius was talked at by Edward. He was rather gifted at rattling off names of painters, dancers, and authors Julius knew nothing about. He would even act aghast or disappointed or both when Julius admitted as much. "This simply won't do. Take this card." Edward handed Julius a golden card with a peculiar design in the front. On the back was an address. An invitation, of sorts...

"Don't be such a philistine!" were the last words Edward said to Julius before leaving.

"No F'n Thanks!" Julius muttered as he casted the invitation into the Northern Atlantic ocean.

Every day Sisyphus seemed to be running into a new fad and while most would pass into obscurity, there were some, like owning large expensive yachts, that would never run out of style. That's why he needed to find the perfect piece for his newest ship which was aptly named the S.S Flounder-- what wouldn't flounder, was the art.

"I'm going to need to find something for the main room that shouts that I'm an aficionado." 

"What about another naked still portrait of yourself?"

"Another? I can't keep commissioning those, people may start to gossip." 

There was a moment of pause while he considered throwing caution to the wind and doing it anyway, but that was quickly pushed from his mind when yet another worker entered the room. He seemed very flustered by the expression on his face and when he began to speak, the entire room knew why.

"Sir, Julius... he... he doesn't believe in the art!"

Not allowing the news to spoil his moment, Sisyphus continued to mull over what he would do. While his men were expecting something a bit more brazen, he simply couldn't allow any more frown lines to form before his big event. Instead of that, he left his men to continue speaking with one another and headed out the door and to where he knew Julius spent most of his time.

They would need to handle this the old-fashioned way.

"Hand me my quill. I'm going to teach this man a little something about art."

Scribbling away at a piece of paper with maddening precision-- Sisyphus completed what would surely go down in history as his magnum opus and pushed open the door to where Julius was standing around, surely having conversations of his own. None of that mattered right now, however, because the Don of the Bronx had something important to show him.

"Tell me, Julius... tell me it isn't true."

Slamming down a piece of paper on the table in front of them both, he looked down at his work and then back up towards Julius-- "Tell me now, do you understand?"

If this doesn't work, then I'm not sure what will...

Julius awoke from a strange daydream. There was a face in the sky that he couldn't make out entirely, bright and blurry. The talking head had a message to deliver to him. What was said to him was the many roles art had played in shifting culture, instilling values and transforming society. He had learned a lot and as he continued to reflect, he no longer thought of the lesson as a daydream but now as a revelation. 

It was much too late to fish for the auction invitation so Julius remained at his usual spot. In his line of work, it's very easy to build up stress so taking in serene moments such as these was a must in order to stay sane. Of course, that was until Sisyphus made his presence vociferously known.

Tell him what? Julius wondered before Sisyphus showed him a drawing he placed on the table.

"Oh" Julius said as he gazed at the drawing. He understood what was being conveyed. Word must've gotten to Sisyphus, a known aesthete, about Julius' objections to the new trend. There was a little bit of explaining to do without upsetting the Don.

"I've had a change of thought recently about art. The boorish and uncultured me is a thing in the past!" Julius reassured. "While I have you here, do you know anything about an underground auction supposedly happening tonight?"