Richard blocked out an area of his canvas with a 2B pencil. He’s right handed but sometimes uses his left. This time, or that time, he uses or used his right. His traditional hand. The hand he uses normally but not exclusively now has a residue of graphite from a deep unintentional smudging. “Ruined!” for just a moment, Richard pulls out a black eraser bought earlier in the week, when he had money to spend or waste. With his left he pulled out the eraser from the drawer and handed it to his other hand, the right one, and with the power of two fingers he unblocked and partially shaded out the section of his new, discounted canvas. The base of his palm continues to smear lightly across the canvas as he erases. Richard notices, “Damnit!” More erasing. More unblocking. More retreating. He stands up. He goes to the bathroom. He comes back into the original room and looks outside from inside. Greenery, balcony, flowers & sun; a bird flies by and another follows. A cat stretches and whiskers catch the attention of a piercing ray of sunshine light bravely forcing its way through needy leaves and unestablished plants. The reflection of the sun of the whisker catches & passes to the movement of the cat’s body, and to Richard’s. Really there was only a half second to see it. Richard was back in his chair just as the cat had finished settling into his upright seating position, facing inward, in the direction of a Richard who then & now has his back to everything but the canvas. He forgot to wash his hands. He gets up again. He goes to the kitchen. He washes his hand with soap. The other hand gets little attention. Together they click, apart they beep. He dries them. He sighs. He goes back to the canvas and retrieves a partially full coffee cup now cold. He microwaves it for 30 seconds. He pulls it out of the microwave and adds a bit of coffee from the still on automatic pot. He adds a little milk. He adds a little honey. He licks off the excess honey of the glass honey jar. He puts it back into the cupboard. He goes back to the canvas. He sits down. He looks at the canvas. Someone had been there already. They left before they even started. Richard begins to think, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” His stomach gurgles from too much coffee. He takes a sip, then a second. He puts the cup down and picks it back up immediately again and takes a third. A bird chirps, another moment passes that didn’t quite go right.