When Sprawls came in from work he found Harmon hunched over a notepad, furrow-browed and furiously scribbling with great energy and concentration.
“Welcome back,” Harmon turned in his seat and proffered the notebook to his friend; upon the leftern page was an elaborate portrait illustration of a young, round-faced woman with pronounced cheekbones, a wide mouth and glasses too big for her eyes. Her hair was long and dark as her eyes and lustrous and poorly tamed.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“Its good, man, real good. How long that take you?”
“Bout three hours.”
“Damn. You should start selling that shit.”
“For what purpose?”
“I don’t need money from people who would do nothing with my work. The general public do not possess the necessary tools to appreciate it nor is it for them.”
“Who is it for then?”