Monday, November 1, 2010
Triumph TR2 and Crazy Eyes Guy
I'm at a doctor's office, waiting on my sister to have blood drawn for some regular test or something. The waiting room is filled with hacking, coughing, plague-infested people so I think waiting outside on a bench is a better idea.
There's not much to draw out in the industrial parking lot but cars. Ugh. I hate drawing cars. I always make the wheels look like cartoony clown cars. I guess I need the practice. Luckily, this Triumph was parked right in front of the bench. At least I don't have to draw a run-of-the-mill SUV.
So, I'm about halfway through the sketch when I see him...a homeless guy, wandering around as if in a daze, talking to himself or nobody in particular. He weaves unsteadily. Drunk? Stoned? I don't know but he makes me uneasy.
I keep an eye on him. I check on him, look at the car, look down, draw. Check on him, look at the car, look down, draw. I'm calculating the speed of his progress across the parking lot against the speed at which I'm drawing. Can I get this finished before he reaches me?
He gets to a large trash can at the end of the building and starts mining for gold. That keeps him busy for a while. I check him, the car, draw. Him, car, draw. I try not to be too obvious with this staring and am thankful I have on dark glasses. I start the final shading. Oh crap! He's headed right for me!
He ambles past as if I didn't exist for which I am eternally thankful. He stops at the ashtray on the far side of the bench, carefully considering the contents. He selects two or three of the most promising looking butts and pockets them. I expect him to continue further on along the front of the building. Apparently this medical complex is part of his daily rounds.
But suddenly he turns and looks right at me, startled by my presence, as if I had just that moment appeared out of thin air. I look up at him. He has Crazy Eyes. Whoops! I'm through drawing now! I toss the sketchbook back in my purse but hang on to the pen. I'm wondering if a Pigma Micron 005 will make an effective weapon against a crazy man.
He asks to bum a cigarette. "Sorry" I say, and stand up, almost sprinting back into the building. He looked like he was about to start up a conversation. The last thing I want to do is get involved in a conversation with a crazy man in a deserted parking lot. I'll suffer heat, bugs, sun, and uncomfortable perches for a sketch, but I draw the line at crazy people.
Back I go to the plague-infested horde in the waiting room.
I might be able to recover from the plague.