A rain drop splashed onto the face of the painted lad. more followed. Nicholas stared at the heavens and cursed. quick he amassed up all his chalks, wiped his palms and were given up. The people rushed for shelter into the entrances of the stores or struggled with their umbrellas. ultimately Nicholas was on my own except for the rain drops falling.

"He’s lovely."

Nicholas jumped and grew to become. behind him became a person. He stood so close that he may want to experience his body warmth. the person smiled and pointed to the drawing. "Raphael." again the person smiled and Nicholas couldn't but respond. Then he worn-outtired the floor and watched as the photograph of the younger Bindo Altoviti melted in the pouring rain, the colours swirling and mixing to a mid of chalk. His coronary heart bled.

He knew of direction that what he painted at the streets turned into destined to vanish, however he in no way had to see it going. He painted, went away and in no way again. He had created and it changed into his for ever in his heart. but to look the destruction was hurtful. Nicholas closed his field of chalks with a click.

"can i invite you to a drink? espresso, tea? it is bloodless and you are soaked."

stressed, Nicholas turned around. Oh yes, the person. He had nearly forgotten him. He become once more smiling his disarming smile and Nicholas nodded worn-out. the person touched him slightly on the arm and guided him into the subsequent espresso bar.

lost in his thoughts, Nicholas stirred his espresso cup and watched how the milk swirled and disappeared - like his painting.

"you may communicate, can you?"

"Huh?"

Nicholas looked into the dark brown eyes of the man contrary. damn! He became already smiling once more. How vintage did he appear to be? overdue 1920s? worn-outtired seven, 8 years older than he. His hair changed into moist from the rain and it had made it darkish. He seemed pretty precise and Nicholas himself wondering how he could pull off his clothes to look at what turned into underneath them. Blood flowed into his groin. the man wore an steeply-priced leather jacket, tight jeans and Italian shoes. His light grey woollen pullover ideally suited his rather dark pores and skin.

"Sorry. i used to be thinking." He attempted to avoid searching into those dark brown eyes.

"You do this painting in your private entertainment? Or is that this your job?"

"personal."

The eyes determined him more insistently.

"My name is Marcus."

"Nicholas."

"Why are you doing this in the street? Why no longer on paper? Canvas? you are very talented."

Nicholas seemed up. The deep voice reverberated in his ears.

"can you inform from this?"

"How vintage are you?

"Twenty."

"Academy of Arts?"

Nicholas shook his head. Academy of Arts! The call aroused unsightly recollections. What did this Marcus need from him? He darted a glance at the person opposite. His hair became nearly dry and found worntired the real coloration: deep brown, almost black. Nicholas felt uncomfortable underneath his gaze. Marcus wore no ring on his finger, and gave no evidence that someone else would be awaiting him at home.

"would you like to come with me?"

Nicholas almost swallowed a mtiredhful of coffee the incorrect way.

"Pardon?"