I parked on the street, and Angelo and I walked up to the museum’s front doors. “It’s better if I carry you now,” I said, and quickly added, “You’ll be able to see the paintings better from up high.”

“Alright,” he said. I lowered my arm so he could step onto my jacket cuff.

Inside the museum, I checked the map while Angelo squinted in the bright light of the atrium. According to the map, all of the paintings I wanted Angelo to see were on the third floor.

With my small, pale friend safely cupped in my hand, I climbed the stairs.