“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
I sighed. What kind of analysis was that? That could mean anything. “Well, you’re eloquent,” I said sarcastically.
“Are those newspaper clippings?” He pointed at some portions of my canvas.
“Yeah.” I’d made some buildings out of newspaper clippings. And then there was a street with trash on it. Some of the trash was newspapers.
“And what’s that?” He pointed to the green smear I’d accidentally created.
“I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Well, if you don’t know, who does?”
“I think it’s a comet. Or a meteor. I don’t really know. It was an accident.”
“I see.”
I shrugged.
“Glitter. I wasn’t expecting that. Is that rain?”
“Yeah.” Well, at least some of my work made sense.
“I take it you’re not going to be doing this sort of thing if you’re working for David Charles.”
“I still haven’t gotten the job, Dad.”
“Yet.”
“Fair enough.”
“How will you know when you get it?”
“When?”
“Okay, if.”
“I have an interview with his publisher or someone on Monday.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I shrugged again.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it . . . don’t stay up all night.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
He clapped my shoulder awkwardly on his way back upstairs.
Labels: january brings few faces
