It spoke to me. There was a word for it. I needed to find that word in the paint.I almost carelessly tossed a canvas on my easel, noting that it lande... vertical. Fine. I clamped it and pulled my paints together. I couldn’t see the whole piece yet, but I could see blue—lots of ultramarine, fading to Payne’s grey. The extenders I used made it almost translucent. I scraped away paint from the dark mass and two faces began to emerge. They leaned toward each other, touching lip to lip. So lightly. So my usual routine was to run a cup of coffee, look at a little TV while I drank it, do the three esses—shit, shower and shave—and then log on to the national news on my laptop. Which I did. Some asshole killed himself along with his wife and three kids, some other asshole detonated a suicide bomb in the middle east and wasted himself along with a couple of civilians, a third asshole ... oh, hell, the same crap as usual. The weather was OK, early fall and nice for a change, politicians were. More

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