Elle Jones

Chapter 30: Picasso at Work

Despite our arrival in a big city, Austin spent the rest of our day, dragging me through congested streets, angry roads, and foreign markets to find a large canvas to display his art.

But as we scurried along the gray pavement, I find myself running out of breath. My brown eyes focused on Austin's strong hands, agile feet, and scrawny appearance.

His wavy, white blond hair shook like leaves spilling from tall trees. His black leather clothes fluttered in the breeze, and even though his face is cover in sweat, Austin's makeup stayed in perfect shape while mine is running down like melted ice cream.

Black mascara dripped down my cheeks, purple lipstick smeared along my mouth, and the beads of perspiration grew on my forehead.

It poured down my face so quickly that I caught a passing thirty-three-year-old male biker, giving me a mortified look that says, 'holy shit, what the fuck happened to her?' I try to be optimistic and wave to him, but he was so horrified by the makeup running down my cheeks that he got hit by a dumpster truck.

BANG!

The sound was like a hearing a gunshot from a far distance.

I didn't have to turn around because I can picture the biker's bruised body lying on the asphalt. Both his hairy legs were broken, his face looked like he could use a few stitches, and he whines like a spoiled thirteen-year-old girl.

Don't worry, based on the loud impact of the accident, the dude will be in the hospital for at least three to four months.

But as for his precious bike, let's just say he is going to walk for a very long time.

"Jesus Christ," I moaned, turning away.

My face almost killed this guy.

Using my right hand, I covered portions of my cheekbones, lips, and my dampened eyebrows.

Why I wore makeup in the middle of a hot city is beyond me.

As soon as we find a hotel, I am going to get rid of this hideous monstrosity, but then again, I am in Sydney being dragged away by my sarcastic, art-loving, feminist best friend Austin who jogs like a squirrel on cocaine.

And people thought I was persistent.

"Can we just stop for five seconds?" I panted. "I need to clean my face."

Focusing his gaze towards the journey, Austin furiously shakes his head.

"Come on!" he declared, tightening his hand around mine. "We should express anticipation, not depression!"

We should express anticipation, not depression? Who is he, Oprah?

"Well, can I express my anger?" I ask, clearly annoyed. "We ran for like, twenty blocks!"

"Ten blocks." he corrected.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, I am tired and I need a break."

Austin let out a low snort. "Wow, and my fifth-grade gym teacher thought I was the lazy one."

In retaliation, I kicked him in the back of his leg.

"Ow!" he howled in anguish. "What did I do?

Sweetly, I gave Austin a fake smile. "Oops, sorry. My foot slipped."

Rolling his eyes, Austin continued forward but his quickened pace broke into a slow walk. After he released my hand, Austin then hoisted his enormous backpack above his shoulders and searched for something he can work with.