Roberto surveyed his work. It wasn’t quite right. It was
definitely what he was trying to achieve, ink swirling and dripping, but
something was missing.
“For Christ’s sake, Rob, could you keep your shit in your
own room?”
Roberto gritted his teeth at the grating sound of his
roommate’s profanity. The voice was not at all matched by the beauty that
stormed in.
“I mean it! If I catch one more sketch in the kitchen or
sitting room, I’m knifing some canvas.”
When he saw the smudges left on her cheek by the cheap daily
paper, it came to him.
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