Stroked

-Chapter 4-

-Chapter 4-

~Oliver~

 "You know, New York really is beautiful." Amy says as we hastily make our way across the street. Taxis threaten us and the mobs around us struggle by. I can't stop holding on to her every word or stop looking over at her, because of the painting and the shock.

"It has its moments." I say and dodge a man who's carrying coffee and a briefcase; New York attire.

We make it across and the wind blows deadly in our direction. Amy struggles to keep her hair from flying out of place, her struggle doesn't really put up much of a fight.

"I mean, I've never really felt alone here. It's good and bad, like a donut." She announces and I pause for a moment and put my hands in defense.

"Donuts? Bad? You obviously haven't tasted mine." I think back to memories spent by the oven in my kitchen while Matt licked spoons and ate probably more than I could taste.

"I didn't know you could cook, or, is it bake? I never really understood the difference." She pushes back her hair and then stuffs her hands in her gray hoodie pockets.

We don't have much further till we get to the restaurant. I can literally smell the breadsticks and parmesan cheese.

Good call Oliver.

"Yeah, I do a little of both. Baking is more technical; like painting. Cooking is freestyle, but baking has to be exact and perfect, or else it's not good enough." I remember the time I forgot my measuring cups and it ended in a disaster, I still can't believe I let myself do it without them. Matt was there, trying to be reassuring, but he didn't help.

A taxi honks off in the distance and we pass by a woman strolling along her children who are bundled up with blankets.

"I thought if you were a painter you could paint whatever you want. Isn't that the point?" Amy asks and looks up at me; it really should be.

"Well, you can. If you don't want it public. A painter has guidelines, like an author. You can paint whatever you want, but if it's not what the public wants it'll never sell, it'll never be worthy." I note, wishing I had brought a jacket along, but I get hot easily.

Besides, it's not that far of a walk.

"Doesn't sound like much fun. If I were a painter I wouldn't care about any of that, I'd just paint." Amy says and I love the way she makes things sound. She has hope, even when there isn't any to be found.

"Yeah, but just painting doesn't really do you much good."

We stop and wait by a few women on their cellphones with arms full of bags. Cars zoom by on the road like life does.