After he took her home and tried to kiss her by the front door, she turned her face away from him so his lips barely grazed her cheek, smiled, said �...goodnight’ and closed the door in his face. It was not the first time he had been shot down since his wife had walked out on him and probably wouldn’t be the last but was very likely the most aggravating so far. It had been an expensive dinner too, and he still had to pay Cleo, the pretty young baby sitter. He did not begrudge that. He was quite. As she neared the end of town, she noticed a small art supply shop and stopped, buying a sketch book, some watercolours, and charcoal, along with an artist's sketch pencil, settling them on the seat, glancing with a vague awareness that it had been too long since she'd had time to paint. The last painting was of him as he slept, in muted shades of blue and grey, the colours playing around his features in repose. The sky emerged through the long night behind her, bright and warm for late spring,. More

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