snubbles
The smell of turpentine is stuck in my nose, even as I'm standing at the sink. The soap does nothing to remove the oil paint adhered to my hands, nor does it remove the chemical scent stuck onto my set of brushes. This is what an accomplished day in the studio feels like, as I step back and admire the colors decorating the canvas in front of me.
The light is so dim on the porch. I can barely see the fly buzzing around it as I take a drag of my cigarette. There's something relaxing about the night air pressing against my bare skin and the faint warmth of the wad at my fingertips. Sometimes you just have to take pleasure in life's simplest of pleasures.
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