"The artist would perch himself on a bench in the town square, sketchbook and pencil in hand.
In between doodles of his beloved wife and 'Miss Kitty', the pet cat, he'd fill page after page with the other subjects that consumed him: The panhandlers who sat under elm trees hungering for pocket change as lovers strolled to dinner and children played on the grass ...
Sometimes, the vagrants he studied would notice the pencil and book and hesitantly approach. He'd share his drawing. They'd talk. Sooner or later, the artist would brave the question: Would you happen to know my son?"
posted by mr_crash_davis
on Nov 24, 2005 -