Chapter five: Some Dead Oak, Specticles Testicles Wallet and Watch

The last hours of the day before were...abrupt, and on this particular morning, it decided to heavily rain, a rather perfect day to Rowland, who enjoyed the smell of rain and felt most calm under the dark clouds that lay over head. The lively colours of summer were waving their goodbyes as a light yet chilled breeze blew them away along with a few damp leaves from trees not evergreen and with of course some litter.

It was five in the morning, Rowland lay awake on his bed even after his alarm had sounded, and while listening to the rain as it hit the balcony, he concentrates on a few drops that trickle and then melt into nothingness, subconsciously drifting back to the events of yesterday and on how normal the first half of it felt to him and yet how that very night seemed to be it's polar opposite.

The conveyance of Nick's arrival and the opportunity that came with him, seemed all too strange to Rowland but the idea of what type of proposal Nick would bring to the table made him feel revived with inspiration, was it a job, a simple commission of which he has thought of what he'll do for.

He couldn't tell, but was excited none the less.

All the while, he thought of an upcoming Autumn chill as he felt a cold wind seep through his sliding door, he turned his attention for a moment to a crack that which he has neglected in his sliding door and a darkening spot just above it, in the left corner on his ceiling as he sits up in his bed.

He rubbed his face and figured it was time to shave, all the while rubbing his eyes and the rest of his head as he struggled to wake up, thinking:

Who was he to pass up being able to do the one thing that he loved. Staring menacingly at the crack that stared him back...hopping that one day he'll be able to fix it, or better yet, move out. He fiscally tried to shake the sleep that clung to him, he had no time for this.

It was six o'clock in the morning and he was preparing to get ready for work but it must have been ten to thirty minutes that went by in which he was supposed to get ready, still now sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to keep track of his schedule, but instead he kept thinking about Nick's proposal from the night before and how sudden it all was, there was no doubt that he was extremely ecstatic about the chat they were both going to have with the hopeful chance that he'll be able to live a dream and that Nick isn't trying to sell his kidneys or turn him into a drug mule, he smiled at that thought. Folding his arms behind his head as he yawned freely.

He then finally came to from his half asleep daze and prepared for work. An hour and a half goes by and he is indeed yet again the first one to arrive at work, a bit late though, as a few waiters came in along with him. About ten more minutes go by and his boss, Mr. Moloi walks in with a rather pale look on his face. His expression deepened the wrinkles around his mouth and the bags under his eyes sagged, his brow, farrowed- shadowing a sodden glare from afar. As if he brought the weather in with him past the threshold of the diner. Spotting a darker wardrobe than usual, wearing a tattered black bomber jacket and for the first time that Rowland has known him for the past summer, trousers.

Rowland accidentally made direct eye contact with Mr. Moloi, who immediately changed his expression to a stern and stony glare and beaconed Rowland to follow him into the currently empty kitchen, Rowland soon then followed but noticed two figures wearing blue walk in soon after in his peripheral vision,

'Fucking cops..!? ' he thought, wondering if the supposed 'well placed' billboard really wasn't.

And as he walked into the kitchen Mr. Moloi- still donning that icy glare, arms folded with his legs apart like a disappointed father, he shrunk at the sight of the old man's demeanor and walked in until he stood face to face with him and waited as his boss began,

"Rowland, are you...close with Oliver..? Oliver Mooney? Have you seen him at all, in the past couple of days?"

He raised his greying eyebrows towards the last part, revealing an urgent look in his eye.

"No sir, not really. No. I-I haven't seen him in like... Two weeks...sir."

Rowland stood there,his bushy eyebrows raised in alarm. Puzzled, nervous and yet curious as a sudden silence fell upon the conversation, Mr. Moloi had stopped for a moment, rubbing his eyes thoughtfully.

Drifting, Rowland glanced at one of the officers- a woman in uniform who was interviewing one of the waiters, trying to read her lips, searching the room for a clue as people shared glances and whispers amongst each other. When suddenly Mr. Moloi spoke up,

"I just found out that Oliver has been missing.", he looked down in thought for a moment, "It's been about a week or two, but I honestly thought he was sick or something came up, I really expected a call...", Mr. Moloi then looked up at Rowland and took a glance at two officers on the other side of the café, "Those officers over there said he is either a suspect or a victim of the crimes... You've seen on the news?", he sighed softly and continued, "They're gonna interview anyone who was working around the time he went missing...", yet again, Mr. Moloi stopped talking. Then clasps his palm on Rowland's shoulder and said:

"Just be honest, alright? You seem like a good kid and I don't know you so well but ya seem like one of the good ones." the old man's eyes doted over Rowland's expression as he himself, resumed to his previous refrigerated glare.

"I don't hire criminals, and that goes for all my staff.", raising his left eye brow boring his deep hazel eyes into what Rowland felt was his soul. He felt the now palpable silence and foolishly decided to attempt to break it,

"Not even an ex con?" he grimaced in the hopes that his boss would return the favour but no, the feeling was not at all mutual. He awkwardly coughed, choking on the tense atmosphere and agreed in compliance and just as he turned to leave, the old man stopped him and added,

"I actually came to tell you...now that...Oliver isn't...", it seemed as though he couldn't get himself to finish the sentence, either because Oliver could have meant more to him than what met the eye or he couldn't stomach the situation. Rowland sympathised, respecting his boss' quiet.

" You'll be manning the check counter from Monday onwards. I'll be managing it for the rest of the week, okay. "

"Yes, sir. ", with no questions asked he went to his station by the sinks and thought about calling Charlotte and telling her about the promotion, which he really wanted, but not at the expense of another person, Oliver, who he did actually remember.

Recalling a slightly short guy with red frizzy hair and an attitude that gave sunshine and rainbows a minor complex, something he had noticed over the summers they worked together, that being a possible over exaggeration because they never spoke apart from the occasional 'hello' and 'goodbye' routine familiar to awkward acquaintances.

As the next few customers came in more and more dishes pile and all the waiters had been interrogated and apart from the water on his hands, his palms were sweating. He had nothing to hide...apart from the graffiti and the weed, there seemed to be

'Nothing to be worried about.' he lied to himself as the female officer- a blue-eyed GI Jane, wearing her cap low and serious walked up to him. Not a trace of a smile on her face, exposing wrinkles by the corner of her mouth and eyes indicating that she was well into her fourties and felt truly underpaid. And if it wasn't for the pen and paper in her hand, Rowland could picture her hands on her hips tapping her toe.

"Morning, I'm officer Ruth. I'm here to take your statement on behalf of the police department.", she had said this in one breath with no particular enthusiasm or friendliness that could ease his nerves.

"Sir, do you have any relations with Oliver Mooney or seen him on Friday the thirteenth between 12:00 midnight and in the early hours of the morning?", she asked, pen and paper ready. Rowland couldn't answer, not being able to remember the particulars of that day or night but still answered,

"N-no, I knock off at around eight. If it was a Friday, he was probably counting the money in the cash register, I think."

She looked at him through the shade casted by her low cap," At midnight? In a place that clocks out after lunchtime..? Is that in any way strange to you having worked with him personally?"

Rowland shrugged his shoulders at the query, not wanting to comment on the personal relationship that which he believed Mr. Moloi had with the missing. As she carefully scanned Rowland's face. He looked back, trying so hard to not look nervous, that he looked nervous which earned another hard stare from the officer. "Okay, where do you live? "

"I live about...", he thought for a moment "Fifteen blocs away, further south.", he twisted and fiddled the corners of his apron as he hunched over the tiny woman.

"What's your name?", she asked.

"Rowland Machepela."

"Not originally from the United States?"

"No, I had moved here ten twenty years ago."

"Do you have any relatives here? "

"Not in Shellville, no. But my mother lives in Seattle."

"You're pretty far away from home...", she stated, almost as if a suspicious fact.

"I suppose... In more ways than one...", she huffed something of a brief laugh at Rowland's statement.

"Do you know anyone else that might know Oliver on any other personal level?"

"No, other than maybe Mr. Moloi, I can't think of anyone. Sorry."

" 'Sorry'..? What, ya nervous or something?", she asked seemingly as a general question.

"*eish...", his mother tongue slipping from his mouth in response to the unexpected query, "N-no no, it's nothing at all...ma'am.", the officer sharply looked up at him and held her gaze, either in response to being called ma'am or the possibility of him hiding something. Which of course he was;

" No need, not like you have something to hide, right? ", she emotionlessly tilted her cap whilst still holding her glare, signing that her time with him was over. Finally leaving Rowland to check if his front pocket didn't smell like the joint he made earlier, wishing he had left it for after work.

Which was of course, was filled with the usual clean up regiment, the truth was that this promotion couldn't have come at a better time as he needed the extra money but it was a guilty pleasure in his mind.

He decided to call Charlotte once he caught his break, he brought not a cigarette or a blunt to smoke as per usual being that he ran late and not knowing what to do with his hands he dipped his left one in his back pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing her number. It rung for a while before she answered:

"Hi." she answered short and sweetly, her chipper demeanor to Rowland either meant she was high or she was sitting around watching one of the comedies that which he wasn't interested in or both but either way he was happy to hear her in such a mood.

"Hey.", he said smiling, picturing Charlotte wearing nothing but one of his baggy hoodies and a pair of those stripped wooly socks, " You're in a good mood."

"Fuck yeah, what's up? ", she asked, sounding distant from the phone momentarily.

"Nothing, just having the weirdest Fucking couple of days...I just got a promotion but I like, don't know how to feel about it."

"Well, kudos babe. But why feel weird about it?", she asked

"Well, the only reason I got it is because some guy I work with is missing.", Rowland yawned, watching the puff of hot air from his mouth turn to steam right before him.

"Shit, bummer. ", Charlotte said above the sound of what seemed to be paper.

"Yeah...", he said exhaustedly, "Yeah."

" Maybe I should come over and celebrate, y'know help you feel a little less...guilty.", she said softly, peeking interest in his tired mind, thinking of the ways that which she could have meant that, earning a little smirk of bashfulness.

"That'll be cool, yeah. But like, I still have classes later...so, y'know you can come. If you're not busy and whatever.", he said this monotonously due to a fatigue that was catching up to him.

Charlotte made a 'tisk' sound of empathy and adjusted her tone to sound motherly and as if speaking to a toddler, "Awe, you want me to come with a big bag of purple whatevers..? With some grapes..? "

Rowland hummed in agreement and also in confusion as to what she meant by 'whatevers' if not grapes, but he was too tired to care. "And maybe a shit load of candy, too." he added to which she laughed and agreed.

"Yeah, maybe...whatever." Charlotte replied with her signature playfulness.

Rowland, who needed to get back to work gazed at the greying sky one last time as they said their goodbyes. Hours pass and it was home time, the relief of not being in that cramped space behind everything was immense to him, breathing the fresh air that still smelt like rain (although the stench of urine pursued) even though the rain had stopped minutes ago. He leisurely walked home, swaying side to side while listening to his playlist. Losing himself in thought, thinking of his distant past that crept up on him as he recalled memories like he was flipping through a photo album, more specifically; one that holds his most uncomfortable memories.

He thought about the night his father left and how he never knew until the next morning, he found his mother lying at the foot of their bed crying shamelessly so, as she never tried to cover it up, even as he walked into her-and now only her room. The thought soured his mood slightly, it somehow made his pace even slower as he thought about it in painstaking detail. He also then remembered how honest his mother was with him, how they spoke in those early hours of the morning. He always believed it had in some way built his character in one way or another. He found himself sitting in the living room of this adorable town house located somewhere in an area called Sandton back home in Gauteng and found his brain sizzling in a pot of emotions he couldn't explain.

His very own music suddenly frightened him as he completely forgot it was playing, tuning back into the world just in time to jump over an open man hole.

His demeanor was sullen, his expression was still. Nullified by the sobering thought and the agent of pain that came with it. Exhaustion always played a darker role in his mind, his whole world slowing slightly to a stop, wanting nothing more than to sleep. As he reached his final destination for the next two hours or so. Now walking up the stairs and through the now quiet hall way filled with doors that which opened to the individual lives of the working class citizens that own them. Rowland reached his, opening it only to be welcomed by it's familiarity and the essential oil infused candles that which his girlfriend bought for him and their aroma still lingering in the air. He was taught that heterosexuality as a male was no crime and that a woman would always be grateful for a man who can handle himself in the household. His mother had taught him the necessities and corner stones of hygiene in every way possible around his home, some would say compulsively. But he had been accustomed to such a standard of clean living that he even so much as had Charlotte on his case about how freakishly hygienic he was even for the opposite sex. The thing that was truly out of place was his unmade bed, which he couldn't have been bothered about at this moment in time. Flopping on it like a dead fish, with phone in hand as unplugged his headphones and fiddled with his device, connecting to his portable speaker.

He pressed play and a slow Gorillaz song played in. He was drifting, feeling the warm and wooly embrace of long needed sleep he thought he could fight off just a little while longer.

And just as his mind fell tranquil, he heard an odd knock on his door or rather, three loud and inconsistent thuds on the door. He got up, feeling the heaviness of his limbs with his eyes burning, frustrated and angry at his unknown wake up call. Soon remembering that he invited Charlotte, who he assumed was on the other side of the door.

"Allo!" Charlotte's bright green eyes lit up as the door's opening made way for light from inside the apartment as Rowland answered the door.

"Heyy!" he stopped for a moment " Your hair... " noticing that she had cut it into a French Bob Cut.

"You like?", she said, holding her arms over her head and slightly twisting her body into a pose, while still holding two bags filled with snacks in either hand. Rowland moved to the side in order to let her in, she put the bags on the small kitchen counter and walked backwards toward the couch; as if she was hiding something behind her back, he could only smile the way all boys do as he stares thoughtfully at his other half, spotting his grey and black hoodie over cute high-waist denim shorts and a striped tank top. Her cat-eye make up, highlighted her bright eyes as she looked straight at Rowland and pulled out from behind her back a big bag of purple marijuana. He looked at the bag and then at her and said;

"Purple whatevers..?"

"Purple whatevers." Charlotte replied, biting her lip in excitement; "Just shipped in, I got the first one out of a few batches."

Rowland cringed as he inhaled air through his teeth, questioning the purity of the weed.

"Don't panic, it's organic.", Charlotte laughed, tossing the bag at him. Rowland opened the zip lock bag and the pungent smell of the leaves waft into his face.

"That's...that's loud. " smiling as he finished his sentence, rubbing his heavy eyes wide awake now.

Fifteen minutes, two large packets of cheese puffs and several sodas later. The two of them lie on the carpeted floor staring at the ceiling fan.

" I forgot to tell you something...", Rowland broke the comfortable silence, eyes still plastered on the fan. " I got a promotion at work today...", he said monotonously, never breaking his gaze from the fan as if he were asleep with his eyes open.

"Oh shit, Kudos babe." although her lazy demeanor due to the amount of 'whatever' they were smoking, she truly meant what she said and Rowland knew it. She turned to her side and faced him, who was still staring at the ceiling; and looked at him the way all boys wished to be looked at. He felt her gaze and broke his ever lasting glare at thin air to look at her, his bright brown eyes romanticised her features as they lay there the way loves do.

"I also gotta tell you something, too. ", he added, picking up his phone to check the time seeing as it was becoming dark out. He again looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully; " I got this dude at the college, right. Who like...finds out that I'm DEVILE...his name is... " he clicks his fingers pretending not to remember Nick's name, as if it would somehow distance him from his mind; "Nick, and one day... Comes up to me and is like ' I can get you into exclusive circles that surround art and stuff... '" he said this with a nasally yet dark voice, satirically mimicking Nick's greatest quality, his voice. Charlotte got up from her side, still facing him.

"hmm. Err...shady much..? " she said it as more of a statement than a question.

"has he been watching you..? "

" No no, it's been kinda the other way around to be honest.", he looked at her to see the reaction on her face;

"Like, I don't know where he came from... He's been in my business class for like two weeks now and one day... It's like he found an excuse to talk to me or some crazy shit like that."

Rowland sighed softly a with strange sense of frustration tensing his relaxed body. Silence fell for a while before he spoke again;

"I gotta show you something...", still fixated on the fan, he lay flat on his back when suddenly Charlotte got up and sat down on his stomach and played with his shaggy unbrushed afro. " Whyyah, I don't wanna go anywhere."

Rowland giggled when he thought of something and then unexpectedly grabbed her and swiftly switched positions, making her giggle and squeal with delight at the surprise. He gently put her head down and put his forehead against hers and smiled. "You don't have a choice." getting up in that same breath and tossing a pillow her way.

" C'mon, get on with it.", he made his voice old and scraggly, he knew she hated it; "Hmm, yeah. Old man voice, real sexy." Charlotte replied sarcastically knowing just how much he loved using it, he had taught her the Afrikaans word for old man which was oupa*; a name she called him sometimes due to his elderly habits like turning down loud music and reading the Sunday paper.

He slipped on his dusty red and white Chuck Taylors and stole his jacket back from Charlotte, who ended up taking another one right from out of his cupboard. And marched toward the door, dragging her out of the three room apartment, much to her reluctance.

And as they loudly chat and laugh in the otherwise, morose and broken hallway.

They went to a recently familiar place, the billboard that which he finished his first piece in two weeks. Facing away from them as they walk toward the building that which it stood on.

"Where are you taking me?"

Charlotte asked, playing with the zip on her jacket lazily putting one foot in front of the other as her boots clanked from the impact of her large steps, walking behind Rowland. Who smirked at the thought of what he was going to show her, kicking stones and plastics as he walked, leading Charlotte once they crossed the road to a narrow back alley leading to the rusty ladder he used in order to get to the hording. When they reached their destination, he grabbed the ladder and pulled it down and gestured to Charlotte to take lead the rest of the way up.

And as they got to the top of the building, they both turned to faced a large and melancholy portrait of a woman with no eyes but rather a colourful bouquet of exotic flowers in their place, the corners of her agape mouth turned down and leaked a rainbow like ooze on one side. All was monochromatic except the eyes and ooze that dripped slightly on her white shirt. Ropes and vines hug her neck and tangle in her hair, her makeup was smudged and runny over freckles, donning a crown that which seemed to fade in and out of thin air. All in front of the letters 'DVLE' in big white capitals like a barcode, how Rowland at times signed his works. The sad portrait of the woman frozen in peril faced the skyline of Shell city, an eyeless glare stairs tragically down at the city bellow, the sky darkening above them revealing stars.

A patrol car's lights flicker against neighboring walls and both Charlotte and Rowland ducked out of instinct, laughing as they both got up. In all the time that he lived in this supposed land of the free, Rowland learned the hard way that there was nothing free about it; especially the freedom. He has cost his mother at least two thousand dollars in bail when he started out his late night escapades. They stood there, staring at this giant woman;

" Remember...when you took that picture when we got high and you fucked up your make up..?", Rowland asked, staring at Charlotte's profile and watching her big eyes gloss over the work with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips; genuinely proud of how fast he had completed it, stepping back and reevaluated his work made him notice what he perceived as flaws.

" Is that me? Row, that was like the worst selfie ever! " She faced the sky and laughed. The idea that he saw such beauty in her made her bubbly, these feelings; amplified by the cannabis that floe freely through her veins.

He held her gently by the arm and pulled her close, "Oh come on, I thought it was a nice picture."

She stepped on his right shoe initially to inflict pain but rather ended up using it as well as the left to gain height.

" You're a ducking idiot." she smiled, wrapping her arms around Rowland; who rested his head on hers.

" You love it.", he pecked her forehead.

*****

As they walk back to Rowland's apartment, he looks down at his wristwatch and checked the time; it was going for eight.

" Hey, you wanna go to a party?", he asked

"Sure, when?", she said now walking along side him.

"Right now.", Rowland said, as they walk past an elderly vagrant that gave them both a rather rude and drunken stare. He stared back blankly as they detoured to the fastest way to the beach.

"Don't you have class? " Charlotte asked

"Yeah but...Nah. I don't feel like going.", He said, while fluffing his hair as a stray bug flew right at him.

" On a Tuesday, though. " Charlotte replied.

"It's just like a bonfire or something , y'know. Like a...", he stopped talking and concentrated on crossing the road momentarily, "An intimate get-together."

"Hmm, okay cool.", Charlotte agreed.

And once they reached the beach, Charlotte took off her shoes and Rowland did the same, walking along side the baby blue ocean on one side and along a tall wall of rock that connected to the well known cliff on the other, in the still warm sand until they found a few cars parked on the grass with people standing near a fire in a boulder scattered corner tucked away from public eyes nearest to Ghost cliff.

The boulders were big enough to reach the fairly grassy plane that made the rocky wall, as Rowland spotted Amy climbing down towards a group standing by the rocky beach front.

One of them was Nick, holding a blue plastic cup with one hand in his pocket; slightly slouched while standing and chatting with a rather pale and tall girl spotting a choker with spikes, both wearing dark black clothing and balancing on separate smaller rocks. The wind blew and brought a few rolling grey clouds with it as it threatened to lightly drizzle.

As they walked closer to the group, for the first time in all the time Rowland knew him; Nick was actually wearing a thick wooly maroon polo neck rather than the usual black. The type that sailors would wear out to sea, it was baggy on his slender frame and made him look boyish as he stood next to this woman who measured up to Rowland in height who also wore dark clothing, which made both look like two crows perched on the rocks.

Amy must have spotted Rowland moving towards the rocks, because she popped up seemingly out of nowhere.

" Hey! " she said bouncing around and clearly a little tipsy grabbing his attention from a conversation he was having with Charlotte.

"Hey. " he replied

"Glad you could make it! " she said pinching his cheeks.

'Ow, why.' he thought trying to pry her off.

"Oh, er... by the way, this is my girlfriend; Charlotte." he awkwardly laughed just as he finally got her off, noticing the change in her expression to a slightly less bubbly one.

"Charmed, I'm sure." Charlotte chimed in, holding an intimidating stare; adding insult to emotional injury for, in sweet Amy's mind Rowland was single.

She smiled despite her dismay like any natural host of such an occasion and silently lead along side the chattery couple.

As they got closer, Amy broke a silence that fell a few minutes ago with the announcement of their arrival as they got to the large boulders. Many greeted with good vibes and some were too busy with their own conversations to notice. But the announcement lifted Nick's head who was still talking to the tall and darkly dressed stranger, walked up to the group and greeted Rowland.

"Speak of the devil...", he said to his dark friend, who stretched an arm out and shook Rowland's hand. "I've heard a lot about you...DeVile.", she said this last part in a whisper but with all the laughter, chatting and music; Rowland couldn't hear it.

"This is Siniqúe ...", Nick added putting his arm around Rowland's neck, still playing with the plastic cup.

"Wait...the Siniqúe!" Rowland gasped realising just how serious Nick was about his authenticity within artistic talent.

"In the flesh.", Nick smiled.

"Holly shhhhit! Your work in Afghanistan was...transformative for me in my photography! It's awesome to have met you." at the end of his sentence he was almost breathless; to meet someone who was famous for his ideal profession was like meeting a celebrity crush. He had seen only so many pictures of her, mostly from her self-portraits and for her photography shoots she posts on instagram usually wearing thick round rimmed glasses with bangs that hung just above her eyes or obscured by light or shadow.

"Please, call me Karen.", she said softly as she smiled at his delight; watching a reaction she's probably seen more times than her favorite movie.

'Karen..?' , Rowland thought as he believed it to be a boring name for a rather interesting personality. He then thought:

"Just one quick question... Why name yourself Siniqúe? Does it have something to do with, how your passion is filled with a type of pain, how and you reflect the real spoils of war so to speak..?", he was using his hands a bit to feel around his thoughts as he spoke with a thought provoked beam.

She nodded her head and smiled as she slightly swung her arm up with the cup in her hand, "I know, it's a bit cheesy but, it has something to do with how it sounds familiar to the English word 'scenic' but is really French for 'cynical'... it was a workshop name,", she laughed as she turned to Nick and they both shared a knowing smile, " A few buddies, Nicky here, and I got stoned with,...", she pulled a face, "Aand it kinda stuck, but it really speaks to the judgement of my own work and what I choose to call art, how my passion is fueled by the destruction of empires, and how I choose to perfect it."

"So, I'm assuming that your self portraits... selfies are symbolic...", Rowland put his free hands in his pocket as listened.

"Of my shame, that's actually why I hide my eyes in most pictures. Because I actually think I look butt-ugly in photos.", they all laughed as another girl joined the group; a long necked dark in complexion stranger with a blond buzz cut who moved into the group holding two bottles of cider that which she gave one to Amy, she caught Nick's attention who smiled at her as she noticed him; shyly smiling back.

The night approached and it made the ocean breeze colder, Rowland made sure Charlotte was okay and was assured by her that she was; they both got drinks in blue cups and enjoyed the evening together.

Everyone was acquainted with each other; including Charlotte and Nick who seemed to have hit it off quite well.

"So, what do you do, Nick? " Charlotte asked as Rowland clung to her; genuinely curious about what he was going to say, never having thought to ask him that himself. Nick shook his messy dark hair filled with unknown sand and answered;

"Oh, I er...am a poet. I've published a few books actually." it was just the three of them now as Siniqúe left to catch a flight, joined in a conversation among other groups of other people around them.

"What name do you write under? " Charlotte asked, seemingly absorbed by the conversation; her eyes never leaving him. Rowland spectated, watching them both convers. Having nothing better to say he simply listened; having Charlotte do the unnecessary act of being his mouth piece and asked all the questions he needed to hear answers to.

"I'd rather not say. " Nick blushed, revealing dimples as he tried to hide his smile:

"Oh come on, you might have a new fan. " Charlotte replied.

He put his puffy folded polo neck over his mouth as he murmured the next sentence;

"m hmm gmhhmh." he mumbled before actually answering; " Nickholaï L. "

"Russian?" Charlotte queried.

"Da.", he replied in his mother tongue.

"From Russia with love..?" she added as she mimed holding a weed cigarette, Rowland snickered.

"Cute. ", Nick said, getting the joke. Now standing comfortably close to the gorgeous dark skinned girl from a few hours earlier as she clung to his arm like an old boyfriend.

'Damn! That's fast!' Rowland thought.

The separate gaggles all pulled together due to the chilled breeze; now standing on top of the hill, closer to the bonfire and the warmth of the flame. With music blasting through the cooling air with stars just above them; not to mention the very stars that shone in Rowland's eyes on this very special occasion he personally believed he needed to celebrate. Sitting on the edge with Charlotte clinking their plastic cups in joy to his good news as he wondered if it would be too soon to call his mother and tell her about the promotion or that he just got offered a job as a professional artist.

Nick; who wandered off with the beautiful stranger, his legitimacy seemed to check out in Rowland's mind, he was drifting; thinking about what to do next for the up and coming art exhibition which tugged on his mind.

"Hey.", he said to Charlotte, resting her head on his shoulder.

"What. ", she replied

" I think I found a name for my next piece.", he said looking across the black liquid that was the sea moved by currents.

"What? ", she asked, silence fell for a moment; he picked up his cup and found a small black ant swimming or rather drowning in his cup, he swirled it as he thought about how to phrase the new found name for his next piece; which he found also to fit the previous one on the billboard. He sat the cup down and watched it drown in the sweet nectar it so longed for before speaking again;

"How about...", he began, "House of flowers."