Plotting

I was stressed and jerked off three times by noon. I had many things to accomplish but very few of them involved the work laid out in the studio. It was Saturday and I wanted it so I started on another canvas, all the while imaging tools that would allow me to control the glue. It’s always a trip being alone with new work, such a love. I thought of Buttercup the entire time. When the boy came to see me he laid it out, “You’re thinking of Buttercup aren’t you?”
“Yes. You’re very perceptive.”
“I knew it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Danny Rose.”
“Yes.”
“Wanna see my Indian guy?”
“Yes.” Which he quickly produced from his pocket. It was a crudely painted pewter figurine of a native American with a feather cloak so he looked like a bird from the back and a man from the front.
“It’s chief falling rock.”
“Huh?”
“Look out for chief falling rock. You’ll get it in a few years when you are reading.”
“OK. He’s cool though right?”
“Yes, he’s cool.”
“I’m going to bring all of them to mamma’s.”
“OK, if that’s where you want them.”
There was a silence and weariness about the studio.
“I’m exhausted,” I said to Z then fell down and did fifty push-ups. When I got up I did a dance.
“I’m exhausted too,” Z added ignoring my antics with a smirk.
“Margaritas?”
“OK,” he added shrugging his shoulders. All the thoughts driving my spirit largely silent.