Dollar Store Picasso

Luckily, today was bright and clear. Not like yesterday. A complete washout, that was.

Yesterday it had rained all afternoon- terrible for business. He had not yet perfected all-weather artistry.

A tattered cardboard placard served as his sidewalk shingle.


Portraits.... TEN DOLLARS
Sketches..... FIVE DOLLARS
Advice....... FREE!


Advice was his loss leader, so to speak.

Last week a little punk of a stockbroker had happened by.

"What do you say, Picasso? Any pearls of wisdom you could bestow upon me?"

He glanced up from his drawing. "Invest in art. Buy a painting, a drawing. Someday I'll be dead- it'll be worth millions. Get rich."

Despite his compelling argument, no sale was made.

The regulars to the lunch carts nearby were generally much more kind. Sidewalk cuisine provided him with an audience-- the noontime crowd would observe him as he worked, pretending they were expatriate Americans dining on Parisian crepes and sipping absinthe, instead of corporate clones munching on chips and cola. Sometimes they would give him their change as a gesture of kindness, rewarding him for his persistence in his artistic endeavors, which seemed so out of place here.

Ocassionally he would even sell a sketch, a portrait, perhaps merely a simple caricature. Such days were rare but gratifying. He provided art on demand for his transient patronage.

Counting up the paltry proceeds from the day's take, it was clear that he had not yet earned enough upon which he could retire. That would forever be a goal unrealized. His monthly allowance and his meager income barely provided substinence. There was hardly enough cash left over for any decent art supplies, in order to continue this unending cycle.

No fancy-schmancy art supply store tonight. Everything's A Dollar would have to suffice.

He glanced up at the sky. The clouds were beginning to gather. Time to pack up for the day.