We always end up in the same coffee shop, even though I don't go to the same one every day.One day he drew a little girl who posed for him like a model she'd likely seen on television. He gave her her portrait, then drew one of her to keep for himself.
He is on deadline. He sighs heavily.
I peek at his drawings and they are of other worlds. They are populated with women torn from pages of catalogues.
He talks to himself. We all do this, but he does so out loud.
"This should be good," he'll whisper.
"I think this should do it," he'll mutter to no one but himself.
Work is getting more steady for him since he cut his rates to two-thirds what they were.
"This is what you wanted," he tells the air.