She was rightfully proud of her body which certainly overflowed her stays and spilled from her fancy shift with its narrow, lacy straps. The word "rip..." was the only one I could think of at the time. I decided she was ready to pluck and smiled at my interior joke."I've seen his work," I said. "He's not fit to live much less associate with honest people or good women." And I suppose you fancy yourself his equal." I'm as good as any man and better than that brutal, fat, cowardly, fart-faced. It’s not perfect by any means, and it’s not a story as such. It has no real beginning, middle or end. It is purely a memory amongst many memories, a snapshot in time, an imperfect watercolour landscape for the person who taught me that painting in watercolours is about building layer upon layer of thin washes, each completely nondescript, dull and boring on their own, but in combination with each other, creating something special. For Ric and Renee, and for Noel, may God love you and watch. More

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