Maxwell never understood his need for privacy. The shop didn't particularly afford him much of such time. He had just sat on the couch with his feet up on the table when the tingle of the small bell sounded.
He looked up to see a face that was a bit red with the rest bundled for the cold. "Max," she huffed. "Why is your shop so far from things?"
He got up to pour her a cup of tea. "Well, hello to you, too, Avery."
They had met accidentally at the Art supply store late one afternoon. They were both asking for a certain kind of pencil. While the clerk was searching in the back, they struck-up a conversation.
She smiled, "Sorry. Difficult days. I haven't been able to work on anything. But, whatever, I found something--have you seen the circus people around?"
Maxwell sighed. "They are gone, thank God."
"No, no they are not."
Maxwell felt a chill on his forearms. He handed her the cup of tea. "Sugar?"
"No thanks."
He sat back down on the couch, looked out the large side window and gazed into the the darken, empty drive-in lot. "He is still here."
"Who's still here?" She asked.
Max didn't realize that he had said it aloud. "Oh, nothing. Did you bring your sketchbook? Let me see."
Banks hesitated then pulled out her books. He reached to take a look.
She said, "I've just started." The cold no longer concerned them. Only the lines, shades and shapes of their minds were important now.
