But You're On The Left

"There's two I really like," he said between slurps of chestnut soup.

I struggled to hear above the cacophony swirling around me.

"Two?" I enquired.

"There's one on the right I rather like, and there's also one on the wall facing at the far end."

"Can you describe them," I asked?

He didn't answer. Perhaps my question was indiscernible? 

Or my art indescribable? 

"But you're on the left," I declared.

"Do you not like the one of you seated, wearing a flat cap?"

But by then he had moved onto something else. 

I never did discover which paintings he liked.