we still had half an hour and I rushed upstairs to cut another piece of Mylar. It seemed that only now I saw your face. You leaned against the wall next to the easel chatting away as my brush feverishly dabbed the Mylar surface. I said, "No, it is nor you. I am too tired." You left. I returned to the cave to clean the brushes. The painting was still on the easel. I liked it, though.
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