I'm an artist...“I’m an artist” she tells me.I'm an artist...
“Really? Me too” I return. She looks at me.
I can see through her perfect skull to the thoughts within: “Him? That crude ill mannered geek?”. Her lips purse. Glistening red with expertly applied color, they catch the eye and hold it in a carmine swirl of light and reflection. I find myself wondering how much light energy is converted to heat by these compared to unadorned lips. Perhaps her lips are cold.
“So what do you do?” I ask. “I’m an artist” is the reply. “No, what I meant was- music, prose, clay…? “Oh painting, of course! I’ve got an exhi
Beef joints
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Touché
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