A man.  Haggard young unshaven he makes a stroke on his page.  A pause.  Again the brush hits the page.  He looks up every second

two

three

four at his subject sitting idle peacefully unaware of the full attention given her by the man his notebook his pen from across the subway car.  The book its pages filled with sketches such; watercolour water damaged all they warp bend mutated by the deliberate modifying abuse a new feeling grown out of every drop.

The train stops.  The man draws on.

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