A guy was sitting there with his shoes taken off. When he saw me looking around, he asked,
"May I help you?"
"No, thank you," said I.
"What are you doing?"
"I am a painter." I responded.
Before I could say anymore, he stretched his arm and shook my hand. "Me, too," he said. "Look at the paint stains!" He pointed to the dried paint on his hand and sleeves. His name was Chris. Then he said to me, "Come on in here." he motioned me to the feamarket door. He showed me to a cubicle he had obviously just started painting and said, "I am tired of doing that. If you could take it over, I let you make the money..."
I hurried to explain to him that I was an artist, not interested in painting walls. I did remember to ask, "If you can sit a little longer outside under the tent, I'd like to paint you." He said no for he had to work. Before long, his buddy, a guy named Patchy, came up holding a paper bag with a couple of beers which evidently he got from the liquor store on the same plaza. I went back to my car and regretted that I should have stayed to paint them painting the walls.
After lunch I meant to paint some strange-looking palm trees on Baisley St, Alva, but When I was driving on the road, I saw storm coming. Therefore, I turned to Harns Marsh. Like Marc Dalessio, I painted the stormy scene from inside the car. As you can imagine, I had to do it fast.
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