I was attracted by her grace. She seemed to live in slow motion. I invited her to sit with me. Now, I wish she would flow her way back downtown. It’s over. She comes to me and stares intently, absorbed in herself. Consistent in her self. “I never did like my nose,” she says. “I thought you might correct it.” I attended to the green rectangle. Vanity is green. “It must be that way,” I say. “Couldn’t you perhaps make it just a little shorter? I’m not arguing about style, just emphasis,” she is almost pleading. “All right, if it will rest your mind,” I say as I walk to the kitchen. When I come back with the knife, she loses her self. She becomes fear and streams out the front door escorted by her screams. I paint the subtle hues of fear in her eyes. The rectangle is lengthened, yellow mixes with green. I wrap her in a curtain of despair while I outline another study.