Chapter 144

Beau had been here almost all afternoon, just behind Pike Place Market, hoping even on this chilly and damp day that he would be able to attract tourist trade from the busy marketplace. After all, even Seattle’s tepid winters drew tourists, and their favorite destination, equal to the Space Needle, was Pike Place Market and the Elliott Bay waterfront behind it.

But today, the blustery winds, constant drizzle bordering on mist, and oppressive dark skies more suited to night, kept most tourists pursuing activities indoor in nature.

Yet here Beau sat on his little collapsible folding stool behind the market, easel set up and hoping to do a portrait or two to make enough money to perhaps get himself a room for the night in one of the fleabag motels lining Aurora Avenue farther north. He hoped for the added bonus of a little something extra to lessen the aching emptiness of his belly. The reality of the term “starving artist” was not lost on poor Beau.