The artist and his muse

II

"Suppose you should."

"..."

"How can you, what do I need to do apart from sitting here for hours on end? Why get a muse when you can't paint him? And why a male one?"

"..."

The man who was now laying with that cloth covering his private parts again lit up a cigar.

"Oh, come on, I told you about those..-"

The artist cursed, focused on his painting.

"It has been two hours and you are not even halfway through. This isn't what we accorded."

"Yes, yes, I know, just..- Let me keep going, alright? I will pay you extra and let you keep up with your bad habits."

"You said that my fingers were sallow. The smoke does that. And you liked it."

"...I just don't want you doing it at my studio, alright? Let me focus on this so I can get it done and you can go..."

"..."

"..."

"Do you have anything to do after this?"

Smoke started to fill the room.

"Polish up more paintings, ones for money, things that aren't truly mine."

"Mh."

"...You?"

"Nothing, really."

"..."

"..."

The artist looked at the smoker.

"You're right."

"Mh?"

"You're pretty like that, when you smoke, I mean."

"..."

"It looks more like you."

"There you go."