W

hile I was drawing this, my girlfriend, Jenn, pulled up in her car in front of me and, getting out, handed me what looked to be a brand-new drink bottle.
‘What’s this, then?’ I said, knowing full well it was a drink bottle.
‘It’s a Hydroflask,’ she said. ‘You said you needed some kind of water thing with insulation, so I went and got you one. It’s got water and lime juice in it, like you like.’
‘Awwww,’ I said, reaching up to take the Hydroflask, ‘You’re the sweetest.’
We talked for a minute about the drawing I was doing, how I felt to be finally getting to 100, and then, as our conversations often did, it turned to what we might like to eat.
‘I’ve been thinking about that Bahn Mi I had at Chef Tanya’s Kitchen yesterday,’ she said, as I stood and began to gather up my drawing things.
‘I don’t think I would have that pastrami thing again,’ I said, ‘but I would have that seitan chicken thing, and maybe a kombucha again.’
‘I want to get some more of that potato salad too,’ Jenn said, ‘and maybe some of that lemon drizzle cake.’
‘Ooh,’ I said. ‘Yes, please.’
Then, as we walked toward the car, Jenn said wouldn’t it be great if Chef Tanya opened a kitchen in LA.
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But wouldn’t it be even greater if we just moved to Palm Springs?’

Today’s podcast: Is it still okay to be Happy?- Sylvia Boorstein

W

hile I was drawing this, a white pickup truck came around the corner, pulled up in front of the house, and a man with 1970’s porn star-style moustache leaned out of the window and yelled, ‘Hey ma’am, you want me to park somewhere else, ma’am?!’
‘Yes!’ I shouted back, cringing at being referred to as ma’am. ‘That would be helpful. Thank you!’
‘No problem, ma’am!’ he yelled again, giving me a thumbs up as he pulled the truck into an empty lot to the left of the house.

Today’s podcast: Preet Bharara Stay Tuned With Preet, Free Speech in the Age of Trump

W

hile I was drawing this, a sandy-haired man came out of the house to the left of where I was sitting, got into the bed of a pickup truck, stood up and shouted out, ‘It’s like totally frikkin’ annoying to be interrupted like in the middle of everything all the frikkin’ time!’
Then the man went inside and a small, dark grey dog with a face like an ugly, little bat came out of the same house and stood on the grass, staring at me.
I stared back at it for a while and then made some dog-friendly whistle noises.
But the animal didn’t respond; didn’t bark, didn’t growl, just stood there staring at me until eventually, bored by its inaction, I ignored it and went back to my drawing.

W

hile I was drawing this, I watched a man drive around the block several times and then pull up at the curb in front of the house. The car was full of rust and when he got out, the driver’s side door made a screeching noise.
The man walked left, past the front of the house, and went around the corner. 
I was looking at his car thinking it looks like a car that a drug addict, or a killer or paedophile, might drive in an episode of Law & Order.
I was drawing the part of the curb that fell in shadow when the driver came back, followed by a teenage girl and a well-dressed blonde woman.
As they got in the car to drive off, a young man and woman pulled up on bicycles, chained them to bottom of the stair railing, and went upstairs.

W

hile I was drawing this, I looked up to see a woman wearing a yoga costume standing off to my left, smiling and staring at me and my iPad.
I took off my headphones and said hello.
‘I just wondered what was going on here,’ said the woman. ‘I live just behind you and I was doing yoga in the living room when I saw you sitting out here and became intrigued.’
I told the woman about the hundred houses project and the stories, and that she would be this drawing’s story.
The woman let out a small shriek.
‘Maybe you could draw my house next!’ the woman said to me.
‘Maybe,’ I told the woman. ‘It all depends when I am back this way, and whether the light is right, and so on.’
‘Is this your job? Is this how you make a living?’ the woman asked.
I told the woman no, but that I did go to art school so I like to keep my hand in, and I have been at this project for years, and that I am trying to get it finished this summer.
‘I get it,’ she said. ‘I’m a hairdresser, but I would love to do yoga full time. I’ve been practicing yoga for more than 7 years, and people keep asking me if I want to learn to teach yoga. But in all honesty, I feel my place is to just encourage others, to just lead by example.’
‘That’s a lovely outlook,’ I said.
‘I used to be in the Army,’ she then told me. ‘I used to build bombs. I know how to fire weapons and build bombs.’
‘Shit a brick!’ I said. ‘You know how to build bombs?’
‘Yes,’ the woman told me, smiling down at me. ‘I was the only woman trained to do it and I can build them by hand.’
I didn’t really know what to say to that, never having met someone who knew how to build bombs, so I just listened with my mouth hanging open while she went on to tell me about the assemblage of what, to all intents and purposes, were handcrafted weapons of mass destruction.

W

hile I was drawing this, I looked up to see a woman wearing a pale blue, bus driver’s shirt, black trousers, black sunglasses and shoulder-length dreadlocks staring down at me.‘Hello,’ I said, smiling and taking off my headphones.
‘I was just walking by and saw you and just wondered what you are doing,’ the woman said.
I told the woman about the project and that she would be this drawing’s story.
Then, when I had finished my explanation, the woman said, ‘Where’d you get that accent of yours?’ 
I told her that I got the majority of it in Australia, but some of it I got in England.
‘Damn,’ she said and cocked her head to the right. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I really like your land and your people,’ I told the woman.
At that, the woman reached her hand down toward me, for shaking.
I took the woman’s hand, and she smiled.
‘Thanks for saying that,’ the woman said. ‘We might not be perfect, but I like my land and my people too.’

W

hile I was drawing this, a woman went past with a dark brown Dachshund, said good morning to me and I said good morning back.
Then, when the woman with Dachshund got to the end of the street, I heard her start up a conversation with another woman who was parked there on a bicycle.
I couldn’t hear every thing they said because just then an odorous and loud garbage truck went by, but I did hear the woman with Dachshund say her father had had 9 heart attacks and I did hear the other woman say she’d now have to have a stent in her heart every 6 months.
Then I heard the woman with Dachshund talking about Costa Rica and then I heard the women telling each other their names and that they’d see each other around and that it had been really lovely to see and meet each other.
Then the woman on the bicycle cycled past me and said good morning and I said good morning back.
Then, while I continued drawing, I heard the woman with Dachshund talking to it.
‘Oh, you don’t wanna go now? You wanna go home, huh?’ she said.
And then, as if the Dachshund had given a really good reason for not wanting a walk, I heard the woman say, ‘Well, okay then, I understand. Let’s just head on home.’

W

hile I was drawing this, a young man came out of the gate next to the garage, walked across the road toward me and asked, ‘Do you mind if I have a look at what you’re doing’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Hey, that’s neat!’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Where are you from?’ he said.
‘Well, originally I’m from Australia,’ I told him, ‘but now I live here.’
‘Neat,’ he said. ‘I lived in Australia for a while.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I said, standing up to stretch my back which was now hurting from leaning forward toward my easel.
‘Yeh,’ he said, ‘I like, totally loved Sydney.’
‘Yeh?’ I said. ‘Well, I like totally love Florida.’
‘Really?’ he said.
‘Yeh, really,’ I said, and we both laughed.

While I was drawing this, a man pulled up in a huge black car, something I had heard referred to as a Hummer.
Curious about what the origin of this gigantic automobile was, I put down my pastel and picked up my phone to contact Google.
I was not surprised to discover that the HUMMER was inspired by an object of war, the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle.

While I was drawing this, it was the middle of the day and a lot of people must have been inside lying under their air conditioners, watching TV or reading books and drinking iced tea, because nothing much happened.

While I was drawing this, a man with what looked to be an SLR camera approached me from across the street.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t help noticing you were drawing something, and I just wanted to have a look, if that’s okay?’
‘Sure,’ I told the man, as I removed my headphones.
‘Wow,’ said the man. ‘That’s a lovely drawing. Is this what you do for a living?’
I told the man that I did a different job that paid me a lot more, and that I did this for the joy.
I then asked the man what he did.
‘I am a missionary,’ said the man who was wearing a baseball cap, large steel-rimmed glasses, a red North face jacket, and the fancy Canon SLR around his neck and the clear eyes and skin of a man familiar with Jesus. ‘And I live in Hounduras.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘how nice.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am here visiting my son.’
‘Oh, nice,‘ I said again.
I asked the man what kind of missionary work he did in Hounduras. ‘I am an educator,’ said the man, ‘and I was called by the Lord to do his work there.’
Then the missionary man told me that at first he found the food in Hounduras difficult to stomach.
‘I found the food difficult to stomach,’ he told me, ‘and the driving. But I am in a little school of 35 children and I teach the orphans English. And, boy, do they ever learn well.’
The man then told me he taught soccer, but that there is no grass to play on, only dirt.
Then he asked me if he could take my photo, to show the children back in Honduras.
Then after he took the photo, he stood there in silence for a few moments while I stared up at him, racking my brain for something positive to say about Jesus, until finally he wished me good luck with my drawing, and left.

While I was drawing this, a boy wearing long, golden-mousey coloured hair, a leather biker’s jacket, black waiter-style trousers, and skate shoes pulled up on a skateboard, flipped the board into the air with his toe, and then caught it.
‘Hey, you got a cigarette by any chance?’ he called to me.
‘No,’ I told him, ‘but if I did have one, I would not give it you anyway, because smoking is for idiots.’
‘Darn!’ he said and laughed, and I laughed too.
‘My name is Daniel,’ the boy told me, ‘but you can call me Blue.’
‘Hello, Blue,’ I said to the boy, and he leaned forward to shake my hand.
Then the boy asked if I lived nearby. ‘I am an empath, I couch surf,’ he said, without waiting for my answer. ‘And it’s kind of cool.’
‘How old are you, Blue?’ I asked him.
’22,’ he said, fishing around in his backpack and finding a cigarette. ‘And I have been couch surfing for four years.’
‘You educated?’ I asked him. ‘You have a job?’
Blue, who was flitting about like an anxious comedian about to go on stage, laughed loudly, which made me laugh too.
‘I was educated at Juvi Hall,’ he told me, as he lit his cigarette and then spat on the road.
‘Blue . . .’ I said, standing up and taking my headphones off. ‘Go back to trade school and become a plumber, you won’t make a dollar off being an empath, and couch surfing when you’re 50 is not much fun.’
‘Why a plumber?’ Blue said to me. ‘Why does it have to be a plumber?’
‘It doesn’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t give a shit if you’re a plumber or not. Just get a trade.’
Blue started laughing.
‘You made a good joke about plumbing and shit,’ he said, and we both laughed again.

While I was drawing this, a man leading a small, rectangular-shaped, beige dog on short legs approached me and began to talk.
‘Hi,’ the man said. ‘I think I saw you a few blocks over a few weeks back, while I was walking Loafa, here.’
‘Maybe,’ I said to the man as, ready for a break anyway, I stood up and removed my headphones.
‘What’s this all about?’ the man asked, sweeping his arm wide, as if pointing out prizes in a game show.
I told the man about the hundred houses, and explained the stories, telling him he would probably feature in this one.
‘Oh!’ he said, laughing. ‘If you don’t get a better story than me?’
‘Yes!’ I said, and I laughed back at him.
‘Well,’ said the man, ‘my story is that I have just finished cancer treatment, and I can’t walk too far now because I shit 20 to 30 times a day.’
I stopped laughing, but the man continued to smile.
‘Prostate cancer,’ he said. ‘Something like 67% of men get it, but mine wasn’t a killer, and I can still pee okay.’
‘I am very happy to hear that,’ I told the man.
The man put his hand out.
‘My name is Dan,’ he said, ‘and I was a Culver City Policeman for 30 years and I loved my job. I used to run marathons, but because of this little problem, I have to stay close to home.’
‘Terrible, just terrible.’ I said, shaking his hand.
‘Yeh,’ he said, ‘but me and Loafa here still walk every day, 3 miles at least.’
Both of us looked down at Loafa, who was sitting almost on the tip of my shoe.
Then we stood there for a while, not saying anything, until the man said, ‘You know why we named her Loafa?’
‘Why?’ I said.
‘Because she looks like a loafa bread.’ The man said, looking down at his pet and laughing.

While I was drawing this, a bedraggled young woman walked up the street in front of me, pulling a large, folded, multi-coloured beach umbrella behind her.
‘Do you want an umbrella?’ she called out to me. ‘I am selling this umbrella.’
Even though I didn’t want the beach umbrella, I asked her how much she wanted for it.
‘Ummmm . . .’ she said, stopping, frowning and thinking. ‘Only 15 dollars.’
And then, thinking she probably really needed 15 dollars, I almost opened my mouth to buy the umbrella that I didn’t want.
But I didn’t.
Instead I called out no thank you, I probably wouldn’t ever use it.
‘Everyone gives me things,’ the woman called back to me. ‘So if you think you need anything, you just let me know, okay?’
‘Okay!’ I called back to her. ‘I will!’ 

Today’s listening: God Is Not Great- Christopher Hitchens at Google

While I was drawing this, an older man wearing a baseball cap, a pale blue shirt, shorts and trainers and pushing a fancy looking, dark blue bicycle, and another man also with a bicycle, stopped in front of me and looked down at my drawing, then across at the house I was drawing, and then back at me again.
‘What’s happening here?’ one man said, smiling and laughing.
I told him about the A Hundred Houses project and asked him what he was doing with the bicycle.
‘We cycled from San Luis Obispo,’ the man told me. ‘We’re just walking the last few streets home.’
‘How far away is that?’ I asked the man, knowing that it’s far, but not how far.
‘About 450 miles,’ the man said.
His cycling companion corrected him.
‘475 miles,’ said the companion, whose bicycle was one of those low rider styles, like a reclining beach chair with a wheel at each end.
‘Jesus,’ I said, ‘that’s a long way. Are you too tired to cycle?’
‘My butt hurts,’ said the man, reaching around to his bum and pretending to rub it.
‘I bet it does,’ I said, looking at his seat which looked like it would be as vicious as a plastic picnic knife on the backside and testicles.
After I suggested he get a gel seat, he said, ‘Believe it or not, this is the most comfortable bike seat in the world. It’s a Brooks England.’
I told him I did not know what that meant, but I’d Google it.
‘I’ve worn out every other seat,’ the man said, ‘and this one takes 6 months to break in.’
Then the cyclists started looking over my bicycle.
‘A bit of oil to go with those cobwebs on your gears,’ said the cycling companion, pointing to the back wheel.
We all laughed at this and I explained that my bicycle had been in storage for 4 months.
Then, diverting the conversation away from the shameful state of my bicycle, I said to the man in the baseball cap, ‘You look like a hardcore cyclist and that bicycle looks really lightweight.’
The man told me yes, and that all they have carried on this 475 mile trip is in their panniers; a change of clothes for eating dinner in and not much else.
‘And sore butt cream?’ I said.
The man laughed and said yes.
‘Have you been cycling a long time?’ I asked the man.
He told me yes, he had, since he was very young.
‘I’m 75 now,’ the man told me.
My mouth fell open and I frowned.
‘Are you serious?’ I said. ‘You’re 75? You look about . . . I dunno, 54.’
The man laughed and touched me on the shoulder and said he was going to report that to his wife.
‘I’ve been married 51 years,’ he said, ‘and I’m going home to tell her I look too young for her and that she doesn’t cut the mustard anymore.’

Today’s listening: Alain De Botton- A Therapeutic Journey

Today’s listening: The Courage To Be Happy- Sylvia Boorstein

While I was drawing this, a man with long, slicked back, gray hair, wearing a Hawaiian-style shirt, khaki shorts and pushing a shopping trolley full of black trash bags, stopped in front of me and held up his finger.
‘We spoke yesterday, right?’ he asked me. And even though I told him no, I didn’t think so, he told me that though I probably didn’t mean to, I had caused a problem in his thoughts.
And then, despite never having met the man before, I apologized.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I apologize.’
The man shook his head slowly, held up his left index finger, waved it side to side, and then told me not to worry.
‘You weren’t aware of what you were doing,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.’
Then the man told me that there were cameras attached to all the FedEx buildings in the country. ‘You know there are cameras attached all over the FedEx buildings, and that way they know everything that’s going on.’
Then he told me it had something to do with the thoughts that we were thinking.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘is that right?’
Then, the man told me a long story about a convenience store.
‘I’m Jewish, and my people bought me a convenience store but there were too many people outside, all around the . . .’
But I didn’t hear the rest of the story because just then a line of cars went by, honking at what, I did not know.
So I just sat there watching the man’s mouth, nodding my head, trying yet failing to hear fully what he was saying.
After a few moments, the man stopped talking.
‘My name is Richard,’ he said, ‘and I want to thank you for listening to me.’
I told the man my name, that it had been my pleasure, and that if we ran into each other again, I would happily listen to him again.
Then Richard held up his left index finger, waved it side to side, smiled, and said thank you.

Today’s listening: Swindled- The Brand (Proctor and Gamble)

While I was drawing this, a woman approached me and said, ‘You know, I saw you drawing near here last week and I just love your look.’
I looked down at the tattoos on my forearms, my lint-covered black, velvet shorts, the 8-dollar slip-on shoes, and wondered how I could possibly have a look anyone could like when I hadn’t showered for 2 days.
‘I’ve just got a role on a new TV show,’ the woman said, taking out her iPhone. ‘I play a prisoner, and your look is perfect for it. Can I take your photo for reference?’
I didn’t know what else to say so I said sure. 
After a few moments fiddling with her iPhone, and me wondering what time GAP opened, I stood up and moved into the full shade, where the woman had directed me.
‘Do you want me to look mean,’ I asked the woman, feeling awkwardly criminal, ‘and put my hands on my hips or anything?’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘that would be awesome.’
‘Do you want me to do a snarl on my face?’ I said, putting my hands on my hips and leaning menacingly to the left. ‘I can look tough if you’d like.’
‘No thanks,’ said the woman. ‘Your natural expression is enough.’
Then, while I pondered just how vicious I must normally look, the woman stopped taking photos and told me how much she liked my haircut.
‘I love your haircut,’ she said. ‘It looks so good so short.’
I thanked the woman and she said that it was her pleasure and that she’d really like a short haircut like mine.
‘I got this cut at Fantastic Sam’s,’ I told the woman.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, recognizing the name of the chain of stores where cuts can be had cheaply.
’17 dollars,’ I told her. ‘I went in there and pointed to a picture of a man on the wall and asked the Armenian stylist to please cut it like that, but make it shorter on the sides and not quite so mannish.’
‘Well, that stylist did a fantastic job,’ the woman said, smiling.
‘Well,’ I said with a big grin, to the woman who would soon be playing a prisoner based on my look, ‘that’s probably why it’s called Fantastic Sam’s.’

While I was drawing this, a man pulled up in a big black car, exited the car, and then stood on the sidewalk in front of me and said, ‘Wow, this is a really nice street.’
I told him yes, it is, and then the man said wow again.
‘Such beautiful trees, so quiet,’ said the man, who was very tall, dressed in a white shirt, black pants and shoes and carrying a large, brown paper bag.
‘You should see some of the streets on the other side of Olympic,’ I told him. ‘Gorgeous trees and very quiet.’
‘Uh huh,’ said the man. ‘Where are you from, what’s that accent?’
I told him Australia and he told me he thought so, and that he had lived in Australia for a time.
‘I lived in Glen Waverly,’ he told me, ‘and Clayton.’
The man then went on to name a couple of other familiar places and I sat there in the dappled light, in the heat, listening to him, nodding my head, wilting in my jeans and tee shirt.
‘Where are you from?’ I asked him.
‘Beirut,’ he told me, ‘but we went to Australia for a while and then we came here.’
‘Nice,’ I said.
Then the man told me he works for an alarm company, as a salesman.
Then he told me he had another business that he was trying to get off the ground. ‘I am a hypnotherapist,’ the man said.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, going on to tell me about a man whom he had just cured of smoking. ‘I specialise in smoking and I love when I have successes.’
Then I told the man something that I could see thrilled him.
‘I trained as a hypnotist,’ I said, ‘and I have some very good friends who are hypnotherapists.’
‘Ooooohhhh!’ cried the man, holding his hand out toward me. ‘This is great! What is your name?’
I told him my name, and he told me his, and we shook hands and smiled at each other, bonding over hypnosis.
‘Are you a hypnotherapist or a hypnotist?’ I asked him.
‘Hypnosis is for the stage,’ he told me, waving his hand. ‘But when you add some training it becomes therapy.’
Then he told me he had certification and told me who he had trained with in the United Kingdom.
I told him who I had trained with and then he told me I should start working as a hypnotist.
‘They’re slow in the US for this, but last night I spent three hours on a smoking client and I love it,’ he said. ‘I love the connection with people.’
I told him this was the reason I trained, too, that I loved working with people and helping them out.
Then he told me again that I should start working and I told him I love it but have trouble with confidence.
‘Maybe I should get some sessions from you,’ I told him, smiling up at him from where I sat. ‘To help me out with my low self-confidence.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you my card. You know, I was going to park down the street but I said to myself no, I will park here and now I’ve met you,’ said the man, handing me his card.
‘Yeh,’ I said, ‘it’s a lucky meeting.’
‘Nothing happens for nothing,’ said the hypnotherapist, smiling and reaching out to shake my hand again. ‘Everything happens for something.’

Today’s listening: The School of Life- 20 signs you’re emotionally mature

While I was drawing this, a short, bald man holding a large, white envelope came running toward me.
‘OH MY GOD!’ shouted the man as he reached me. ‘YOU’VE GOT GREAT ENERGY!’
‘Really?’ I said, taking off my headphones and standing up. ‘Do I?’
‘YES!’ shouted the man again, raising his arms as if I had just performed a hold-up on him. ‘You sure DO!’
Then, suddenly, he put his right hand on my left shoulder, inhaled, held his breath for a moment or two, tilted his head forward, exhaled and quietly said, ‘I have AIDS.’
Then he pursed his lips and nodded his head up and down.
‘Shit,’ I said, frowning. ‘That’s very, very bad luck.’
Then the man opened his eyes.
‘Yes, yes it is,’ he said, looking into my eyes. ‘But don’t worry, you can’t catch it like this.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think I could.’
Then the man, who was wearing a pink polo shirt, blue slacks, and was missing the front teeth on both his upper and lower jaw, pulled up the sleeve of his polo shirt.
I looked up to see a bony shoulder on which grey hair was growing in tufts, like seaside grasses.
‘I need some medication,’ the man said, waving the white envelope in front of my face. ‘I need 36 dollars.’
‘Um . . .’ I said. ‘Okay.’
Then, like a magician performing a cup and balls trick, the man waved his hand and the envelope disappeared.
‘You see?’ he said, pointing to his abdomen. ‘I need suppositories.’
‘Oh,’ I said, bending forward slightly to look at his distended abdomen.
‘You see?’ the man said again.
Then the man closed his eyes and went quiet.
I stared at his face, at his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping on a river bank.
And then there was a long quiet between us until I broke the silence by saying, ‘I’m afraid I only have 5 dollars.’
The man opened his eyes and poked his head forward like an emu.
‘Is that all?’ he cried as I held a 5-dollar note toward him.
‘Yes,’ I told the man who was now tsk’ing me and fanning his face with the white envelope. ‘I’m afraid that really is all I have.’

Today’s listening: Existential Philosophy and Psychotherapy – Emmy van Deurzen

While I was drawing this, a young man with a camera slung around his neck approached me.
‘I’d like to shoot you,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘really? Are you a photographer?’
‘Among other things, yeh,’ the young man said.
Then he told me his name and I told him mine and he stuck his hand out and I reached up and shook it.
‘I have, like, 14,000 followers on Instagram,’ he said. ‘You should follow me’.
Then he asked me if I was free tomorrow for the photoshoot, and after I told him I am not sure, he continued to talk at me.
‘I’ve only been here for like a month,’ he said, tapping his chest and doing a subdued jig. ‘But things are really happening for me.’
‘Oh,’ I said, leaning back on my arms, and looking up at him. ‘That sounds good.’
Then he told me he had just made a promotional video for a tattoo artist who was about to be a celebrity.
‘He’s folk right now,’ the young man told me, ‘but he’s, like, about go big.’
Then he held up his iPhone to show me a video of the tattoo artist being interviewed on a red carpet by a long-haired, pretty teenager.
Then the young man, who was dressed in black track pants, a red tee shirt, and ochre Caterpillar boots, told me he had a manager who had gotten him some acting work, and that besides being a photographer, he also does stand-up.
‘Oh, yes?’ I said.
‘Yeh,’ he said, tapping his chest again, and frowning. ‘I’m, like, a pretty funny guy.’
Then he told me that even though he is only 21 years old, he has his own production company and that he is self-taught in everything that he does.
Next, he told me that he was living in West Hollywood, but that his roommate had started to ‘act in a strange way’.
‘He’s bisexual,’ the young man revealed, ‘which is cool because my uncle is, like, bisexual, but this guy was acting, like . . . like I was his wife.’
Then he looked at his iPhone again, scrolling up and down, presumably looking for things to show me.
Firstly, he showed me some images of him posing with his shirt off while 3 girls in very little clothing hung on to various parts of his limbs.
‘Here’s a video I made of an androgynous,’ he said, bending down. And for the next few moments, we looked at the screen of his iPhone where a person wearing a head scarf walked along a street in high heels, singing.
And then, apropos of nothing, he told me, ‘I’m, like, excellent at imitations. Like, after about half an hour with someone I can sound exactly, like, like them.’
Then he told me he has a friend whose uncle is a big Hollywood agent, and that the uncle has taken an interest in him.
‘Have you heard of him?’ he asked me, revealing the name of the uncle/agent.
Before I could say I had not, the young man told me he was a good salesman.
‘I worked in car sales for like 4 years. And even though I’m only 21, I was already the manager,’ he said.
I nodded my head, but the young man was looking down at his phone, scrolling.
‘Yep, things are happening for me out here,’ the young man said, as he scrolled. ‘Things are, like, really happening.’

Today’s listening: Why you feel what you feel- Dr. Alan Watkins

While I was drawing this, I looked up to see a woman dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, dark blue track pants and white rubber sandals staring down at me.
‘Hello,’ I said to the woman, taking off my headphones and smiling up at her.
‘Wait,’ she said, holding up both of her arms, like she was a televangelist praising Jesus. ‘Is that an Australian accent I hear in that hello?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I lived in England for a long time so it’s not so extreme.’
‘I lived in Bundaberg, mate!’ the woman shouted, and laughed.
I laughed too, asking her how she came to live in Bundaberg.
‘I married an Aussie,’ she told me. ‘We were married for 8 years. I gave him a hit of acid on a beach in Indonesia . . . and then I married him. My own fault, really.’
We both laughed.
‘But he couldn’t keep his arm straight,’ the woman said.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see.’
The woman laughed and clapped and shouted, ‘SEE! You know what I mean! I knew an Aussie would know what I mean.’
‘Yes,’ I said, nodding my head. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘I gave him an ultimatum,’ she said, frowning slightly. ‘Me and the kids, or the booze.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘He gave it up for a while,’ she told me, ‘but he went back to it.’
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘I didn’t want to lose everything,’ she told me. ‘I have a nice house in the Canyon.’
I didn’t say anything, I just nodded.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I had my dogs there but I can’t get any more animals because I have vertigo and asthma.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘That’s not good.’
‘No,’ she said shaking her head. ‘It is not good.’

Today’s listening: The School of Life-Alain de Botton on Love

While I was drawing this, a man, wearing a stonewashed denim jacket, high-waisted stonewashed denim jeans and what look to be Birkenstocks with socks, pulled up in front of me on a bicycle.
After a brief exchange on why I was sitting in the street, the man said, ‘Is that an Australian accent I hear?’
‘Yes,’ I told the man, ‘it is.’
‘Oh, cool,’ he said, smiling and bobbing his head up and down. ‘My roommate lived there for like 12 years.’
‘Nice,’ I said. ‘Have you been?’
The man smiled and laughed and said no, that he hadn’t had the opportunity.
‘I’d love to go, but I’ve only just moved here,’ he told me, ‘so I’m kinda stuck here for a while now, working.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m an actor,’ he told me.
‘Nice,’ I said. ‘What kind of acting?’
‘I’m a performer,’ he said.
‘Oh, nice,’ I said. ‘What kind of performing?’
‘I work in theme parks,’ he said.
‘Oh, very nice,’ I said. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘I worked in Orlando,’ he told me.
I thought about the lovely Florida weather.
‘Which theme park?’ I asked him.
‘Harry Potter,’ the man said.
‘Oh, that sounds like fun,’ I said, even though I had never read a Harry Potter book nor seen a Harry Potter film.
Then the man’s phone rang and so I went back to drawing until he finished his conversation.
‘So do you dress up as a wizard, then?’ I asked him.
‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘I dress up as a wizard.’
‘That sounds like fun.’
‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘I guess.’
Then, my questions exhausted, the man stood there staring at his phone until a car pulled up.
‘That’s my ride to work,’ the man said.
‘Another theme park?’ I asked him.
‘Yes,’ said the man, laughing.
‘Another fun day,’ I said.
‘I guess so!’ the man said, giving me a thumbs up as he walked toward his ride.
Today’s listening: Dr. Judith Grisel-Never Enough

While I was drawing this, I looked up to see a woman wearing the uniform of a well-known bank, the bank I bank at, staring down at me, smiling.
The woman was tapping at the back of her hands and mouthing something.
I took off my headphones.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘what was that?’
‘Looks like you’re a fan of old skool,’ she said, pointing to the tattoos on the backs of my hands.
‘I am,’ I said to the woman, and smiled. ‘What do you have?’
‘Here,’ said the woman, pulling up her sleeve to reveal a large dagger through a heart covering most of the underside of her forearm.
‘Ooh,’ I said. ‘That’s very, very, very, very nice.’
The woman said thanks and then asked me what I was doing sitting in the street.
I told her about the A Hundred Houses project, explaining that the drawings are accompanied by stories, and let her know that she would be number 75.
‘Oh, awesome,’ said the woman. ‘What will you call my story?’
‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘What would you like me to call it?’
‘Um . . .’ she said, ‘Kelly with the tattoo of a dagger on her arm who works in the bank but wishes she didn’t.’
‘Okay,’ I said, as we both laughed.

Today’s listening: Dr. Anna Lembke-Health Matters 2022: Pain, Pleasure, and the Addictive Chase for Dopamine

While I was drawing this, a woman wearing a frown crossed the street toward me and, standing right in front of me, hands on hips, began talking at me.
‘What are you doing, sitting in the street like this?’ she asked, staring down at me.
‘I’m drawing that house over there,’ I said taking off my headphones, and pointing to the house I was drawing.
‘I can see that,’ said the woman, who was dressed in blue slacks and a grey fleece with a picture of three cat heads on it. ‘But why on earth?’
I explained to her the A Hundred Houses project, and that I was up to number 74, and that she would be the story for this house.
‘Oh,’ she said, now smiling. ‘I know about stories. My husband writes stories.’
‘Oh, he does?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said, the frown returning. ‘But he’s not very good at it.’
‘What are his stories about?’ I said.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s always asking me to read them, but I don’t.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Why not?’
‘I prefer television,’ she said, now smiling, ‘but not just any old television.’
‘What do you like to watch?’ I said.
‘I’m not terribly fussy,’ she said, frowning again, ‘but nothing with murder.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘like drama, or comedy or something?’
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling again. ‘Adventures – but only if Tom Cruise is in it.’
‘So Top Gun, or Maverick or Mission Impossible . . . or . . .’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, I love him in Mission Impossible, but not that silly Magnolia thing.’
‘What about Born on the 4th of July,‘ I said, ‘or Risky Business?’
‘Yes, he was good in that war one,’ she said, now laughing. ‘But he was better in his underpants.’

Today’s podcast: Happy Place with Fern Cotton and Alain De Botton

While I was drawing this, a man wearing a white towel, frayed jeans and no shoes, approached me holding a pair of sunglasses, a style I wouldn’t wear but that someone who enjoys snow skiing might.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, ‘you didn’t lose these, did you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘They’re not mine.’
‘Oh,’ he said, staring at the glasses, tilting his head as if trying to work out what he was holding.
Then he held up an empty cardboard box, that looked like it might have held a television remote control, and said, ‘I was going to put them in here, ma’am, and give them back but I thought you might like them.’
I looked at the glasses again and then at the man and smiled and said thank you but no thank you.
Then the man pointed to a word in French on the empty box.
‘What does this say?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said as I leaned forward to get a closer look.
We both stared for a few moments at the box, trying to work out what the French meant, until the man offered me the glasses again.
I told him that he should keep the glasses because it would get very sunny and he might need them.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I guess so. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ I said, and I smiled.
‘Have a good day,’ he said, putting the sunglasses in the box as he walked away.

Today’s podcast: Mortified- Jill: Dear Grandpa

While I was drawing this, two women walked past with their dogs: one a drooling, pony-sized creature, the other smaller and wearing a brightly coloured scarf instead of a collar.
‘You’ll always recognise my dog!’ called the woman whose dog was wearing the brightly coloured scarf. ‘It’s the best dressed animal in the neighbourhood!’
‘As are you yourself,’ said her companion, who was dressed in jeans, Ugg boots, a brightly coloured, knitted shawl, and nothing else.

Today’s podcast: The Anthill Recovery Part One- The Black Death

While I was drawing this, a van bearing the logo of a well-known pesticide company pulled up in front of the house, and a man got out.
The man, who was wearing a dark blue uniform and carrying a clipboard looked over at me, then back at the house, then back at me and back at the house and then called out, ‘Oh, have I parked in your way?’
Because the man had been observant, and then courteous, I responded with, ‘No, I’m almost finished anyway’.
Taking our interaction as an invitation, the man crossed the road toward me.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked me, moving to my side and looking down at my drawing.
I told him about my hundred houses project, that it had taken me four years to get to 71, but that I was on a real roll now and aimed to finish in February or March or April.
‘Congratulations,’ the man said. ‘I wanna see them when they’re all done.’
I told him the website address, and then we got onto the topic of where I was from.
‘I am from Australia,’ I told the man.
‘I’ve been there,’ he said. ‘I went to Sydney for my son’s wedding.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said.
‘Yeh,’ he said. ‘He married an Aborigine.’
‘Oh?’ I say.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the man, ‘and I knew nothing about the Aborigines until he married one.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘they are the original population.’
Then I gave him a short history about Australia’s massacre of indigenous people, and how once there had been a White Australia Policy.

The man expressed no surprise.
‘They live in London now,’ he said. ‘My son and the Australian wife.’
Then the man told me he had been born in Shanghai, but came to the US when he was 10.
‘My whole family is out there still,’ he said, ‘and I ain’t seen none of them.’
‘Oh?’ I said, leaving it at that.
The conversation went quiet until I said, ‘Well, thanks for the story, but I need to get back to my drawing before the light goes.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the man said.
But before he left he asked me my name and I told him and then he told me his.
‘That’s my English name,’ he said. ‘But my Chinese name is Lee Lee Ching.’
‘Okay then,’ I said. ‘I hope you have a good rest of your day.’
‘You too, ma’am,’ he said, turning and crossing the road toward the truck bearing the logo of the well-known pesticide company.

Today’s podcast- Esther Perel: Before we got together I identified as gay

While I was drawing this, my attention was drawn to a man two houses down taking clothes out of a duffel bag and then laying them out on the sidewalk.
After a few minutes, the man waved and called out to me, ‘I’m looking around for somewhere to wash my clothes!’
The man, who was tall and bald and dressed in a green track suit, black leather jacket and large, black work boots then called out again, this time asking me if I could give him something to eat.
‘Have you got anything for me to eat?’ he called, and I called back no, that I didn’t have anything to eat, but that I would give him 5 dollars.
I took 5 dollars from my bag and held it up and the man crossed the road toward me.
I stood up and handed him the money.
He put the money in his pocket and said thank you.
‘My name is Peter,’ he told me, ‘Peter Green.’
I told him my name and we shook hands.
‘I’m a percussionist,’ he told me, ‘and a drummer. That’s my thing.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘Nice.’
‘My mother has cancer,’ he said. ‘She’s 92 years old and she’s been having chemotherapy.’
I told him that must be very sad, distressing, and then Peter Green asked me where in England I was from.
I lied and said, ‘I’m from near Oxford.’
Then he told me his mother was Welsh.
‘My mother is from Wales and my father is from Jamaica,’ said Peter Green as he rubbed his right hand over and over on the light grey stubble on his head. ‘And I am walking back and forth every day to see my mother while she’s getting well.’ 
He tilted his head to the side.
‘But things are going to get so much better for me,’ he said, ‘and for you too.’
I smiled at Peter Green and said, ‘Okay, that would be great for both of us.’
‘Bless you,’ said Peter Green, slowly rubbing his head and waving his hand at me as he crossed the street back to his clothes laid out on the sidewalk. ‘I’ll be looking out for you.’

Today’s Podcast- 99% Invisible- Corpse, Corps, Horse and Worse

While I was drawing this, a woman leading a small, terrier-style dog, stopped and looked down at me.
After the inevitable explanation of what I was doing here, sitting in the street, I told her that her dog was cute, and leaned slightly forward, holding out my hand to it and making some of those sweet, dog-attracting sounds people make to a dog when they want it to engage with them.
‘He’ll just ignore you,’ said the woman who was wearing a white tee shirt, chinos, and bright red lipstick.
Her arms were covered with highly skilled, portraiture tattoos.
‘He’s not interested in you out in public, but if you come to his home he’s all over you.’
‘I see,’ I said, giving up on the animal and straightening up. ‘So out in public he’s a snob?’
The woman laughed.
‘I like your tattoos,’ I said to the woman, pointing to a particularly excellent black and grey work of a couple: a man and a woman.
‘Those are my parents,’ she said.
Then she showed me other black and grey portraits up her arms but none were as skilled as the one of her parents.
I asked her who did it.
‘It was a woman up in Orange county,’ she said. ‘She was really good.’
Not having any black and grey work, and thinking maybe one day I might get some, I asked the woman for the tattoo artist’s number.
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘She committed suicide.’
‘Jesus!’ I say.
‘Yeh,’ said the woman rolling her arm around to show me, this time without explanation, a good, but not as good as the parents, portrait of a baby on the back of her arm. ‘She did this one too. Yeh . . . it was a real shame,’ said the tattooed woman, as we admired the tattoo of the baby that the tattoo artist from Orange County who had committed suicide had done.

Today’s podcast- Haileywood Episode 1: His Own Private Idaho

While I was drawing this, I looked up to see a young man staring down at me.
I took my headphones off.
‘Excuse me, Miss . . .’
‘Yes?’ I said, surprised by his use of ‘Miss’ in reference to me.
‘What’s your name?’ said the young man, who was wearing yellow ochre-coloured chinos, ochre Caterpillar boots, a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, a pair of white-rimmed, green-lensed sunglasses, a ponytail and a goatee.
I told him my name and he told me he liked my style of drawing.
‘I really like your style of drawing,’ he said, ‘and I wondered what your name is because I might have heard of you.’
‘You wouldn’t have heard of me,’ I told him. ‘I’m not somebody.’
‘Oh, really?’ he said. ‘Well, even if you are nobody, I still love your drawing.’
I told him thank you, and noticed that in his hand he held what looked to be a script, with yellow highlights on some of the words and ‘Franco’ written across the top.
Then the young man began to tell me about himself.
He told me his name was Joe, that he was an actor and that he had just been to a meeting at Universal and that he had been in a TV series and that he had made a film that would be coming out soon; a film in which he had a big part.
‘I’m thinking about moving out here,’ he told me, ‘to LA. But to be honest, I’m scared.’
‘Um,’ I said, ‘I can understand your fear, it’s a big change to make. But seeing you’ve already made a TV show, you’ve been in a big film, you’ve had a meeting at Universal, maybe you’re nervous about the unknown, rather than fully scared.’
Joe laughed, and cocked his head to the side.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not used to having people question me. You’ve made me really think.’
Then he told me the TV series had caused people to be interested in him, but interested for what he was not sure.
‘I’m not sure whether they’re interested in me for me or for me because I’m somebody.’
I nodded my head and told him he’d better get used to it.
Then he asked me, ‘Do you find people just want to be with you because of who you are?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said, frowning thoughtfully at him, curious that he was still thinking I was a somebody. ‘Work out who you are and be that and people will want to be with you or not,’ I told him, ‘but work out who you are first.’
He rubbed his goatee and smiled a huge, open-mouthed smile, and I looked straight up into his mouth and pondered how very similar this somebody’s teeth were to the teeth of all the nobodies I knew.

Today’s podcast- Bad Women: The Ripper Retold, Episode 3 Polly Walks Out

While I was drawing this, a very tall man with curly, grey hair and the largest human nose I had ever seen walked up beside me and said, ‘I’m okay today, thank you, because my Morgellan’s isn’t playing up.’
Not knowing what Morgellan’s was, I did not know how to reply so I just said oh and then waited for him to carry on.
‘It looks like I’m a tweeker,’ he said, pointing to red spots on his face and neck. ‘But I’m not. It’s the chemtrails. See?’ he said, tilting his head backward and pointing upward.
I looked up at the sky and then back at the man who was waving his hand back and forth at the sky.
‘NASA and the Illuminati have been putting those chemtrails there for more than 40 years, and they drop down fibres and the fibres rain down and burrow into your skin,’ he said.
‘Goodness me,’ I said, staring at the man’s nose, trying to think of a way I’d describe it.
‘It’s bacteria that they’re dumping on us!’ said the man, who was wearing a dark blue, short-sleeved shirt, knee-length, brown checked shorts, red trainers and a pair of red socks with baby bottles embroidered on them. ‘Like worms that burrow in and live in your skin.’
Still not knowing what to say, I let the man continue.
‘They drop it out of automatic planes,’ he told me. ‘Planes without pilots.’
‘Like drones?’ I asked.
‘EXACTLY!’ he shouted. ‘EXACTLY!’
Then he told me that the bacteria that is dropped are like caterpillars, and that they have the NASA logo on them.
‘If you look at them under a microscope you’ll see the NASA logo,’ the man said.
‘Goodness,’ I said, squinting up at the sky, looking for falling bugs.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘go home and Google it.’
‘Okay,’ I told him. ‘I will.’
‘Promise?’ he said as he started to walk off.
I promised him I’d look it up.
‘There’s going to be a lawsuit starting in 2 weeks!’ he shouted back at me. ‘Look it up!’
I waved to the man as he walked away.
‘It’s NASA and the Illuminati,’ he called back to me, ‘and NASA’s logo is all over them . . . ALL OVER THEM!’

Today’s podcast; Swindled- The Saint (Mother Teresa)

While I was drawing this, a young man wearing a Trader Joe’s tee shirt passed me walking, then doubled back to ask what I was doing.
I told him about my house project.
‘So neat!’ he said. ‘So neat.’
Then, noticing the thumb brace on my left hand, he offered me up some advice.
‘If that’s for arthritis, take Turmeric,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I have some Turmeric pills that I never take. I’ll start taking them.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Do it. I have so many skating injuries, so I take Turmeric and it really helps.’
‘Ok!’ I said, happy for his advice, and the idea of relief.
‘Yeh,’ he said. ‘It’ll take about a year, but you’ll really notice the difference.’

Today’s podcast- Land Of The Giants- How Apple got its groove back.

While I was drawing this, Amy brought, Molly, out to meet me and after some discussion about my drawing being beautiful, Molly told me her husband was also an artist.
’Oh,’ I said, ‘what does he do?’
‘Mainly portraits,’ she told me, and then I asked her how big they were and she held her arms up to show me.
‘Does he have Instagram, where can I see them?’ I asked her, picking my phone up.
‘He’s called “grapeslaroc”,’ she said and we all went quiet while I searched for him on Instagram.
‘Is this him?’ I said, finding a guy called S. Josh Elkin.
‘Yep,’ said Molly, ‘but he has 2 accounts and that looks like his DJ account.’
‘Yeh,’ I said, scrolling through his images on my phone. ‘But here are some portraits of Bob Dylan and Snoop, and Beyonce’s husband, what’s-his-name.’
‘Yep,’ she said, ‘that’s him.’
‘Nice,’ I said. ‘I like the colours in the Dylan. Oh, and there’s Bob Marley too.’
For a few moments Molly and Amy leaned in from behind and looked at my phone until I said, ‘Okay, I’m getting cold and I’m almost finished so I’m coming in.’

While I was drawing this, a woman passed along on the footpath behind me walking a small, white, curly-haired, yapping dog on a leash.
A man came out of the house next door to the one I was drawing and after putting a painting in the boot of a car, turned to me and waved and I waved back.
Three children of various ages, from around 7 to 15, passed by in front of the house, all of them staring at me.
And that was all that happened while I was drawing this.

Today’s podcast: Teachers Pet

While I was drawing this, I had Elliot tied to my foot by his leash, and he laid quietly on the road in the sun, not making a noise or fuss, which was lucky for him because I wasn’t in the mood for any of his puppy antics this afternoon.

While I was drawing this, a man approached me walking 2 dogs on a leash: one looking like a poodle, the other like a terrier.
As they got closer, Elliot, my dog, who was tied to my leg by his leash, let out a half-arsed, little growl and I told him to stop it.
‘Ooh!’ said the man, halting his stroll and maneuvering himself behind me. ‘That’s lovely.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, pretty sure he was talking about the drawing and not the startling shade of yellow my hair was from the inept bleaching I’d recently given it.
‘You’ve got the light right,’ he said, and I said thank you again.
Elliot was letting out a few more growls so I looked down to chastise him and at the same time I saw that the man’s terrier, whose face was very close to Elliot’s, had something wrong with its eye.
It was swollen, like a marble, and even though I was very curious as to what was going on with the dog, I didn’t want to engage the man in conversation.
So I didn’t bring it up, I went back to my drawing.
‘Are they soft pastels?’ the man asked me.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘My aunt used pastels,’ he said. ‘She was an artist.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said.
‘I love these old style of houses,’ he said. ‘My favourite one is up the street there.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, thinking about what colour I was going to use for the front door.
The man, who was wearing a red baseball cap and shorts and a white polo shirt, continued.
‘It’s blue, has a porch all the way around it,’ he went on. ‘You should have a look at it.’
‘I might go when I finish here,’ I said.
‘Oh, okay then,’ he said. ‘I see.’
Then he stood there for a few moments until he said, ‘Okay, good luck. Come on boys, let’s go.’
And off with his animals he went.

Todays podcast: ProPublica: The Breakthrough- How an ICIJ reporter dug up the World Bank’s best kept secret 

While I was drawing this, nothing much happened.
A tourist trolley passed by.
A girl with blonde curls passed with a woman I presumed to be her mother.
A boy sat on a bench eating a sandwich.
And my wife, Miss Catherine, lay on her side on a park bench in dappled light falling through the leaves of a moss-draped oak.

While I was drawing this, a young guy with no shirt but a lot of tattoos, walked by with his dog. 
‘Is that a Border Collie?’ I said.
‘Yeh,’ he said.
‘I love Border Collies,’ I said.
‘Yeh,’ he said.

While I was drawing this, the garbage truck came screaming along the road.
It was early in the morning, about 7.30am.
I could hear people laughing in the house behind me. 
It’s easy to be happy that early in the morning, when the sun is already up and strong.

While I was drawing this, a group of people made up of 2 elderly men, an elderly woman and a teenage girl went past.
It was only 9am but they were already wearing beach clothing; water shoes, bathing suits, hats, sunglasses.
‘Ya mind if I take a look at what you’re drawing there?’ said one of the elderly men, crossing the street toward me.
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘Well my, look at that,’ he said, standing behind me and looking down at my picture. ‘That’s really coming along.’
Then the other man came over and looked at my drawing.
And then the girl came over.
Ant then the woman came over and they were all standing behind me saying things like ooh, ahh, and woah.
Then the elderly man who’d first crossed the street said, ‘What inspires you to draw a place like that?’
‘Well, the light has to be right and the house has to be a pretty colour,’ I told him, ‘and that’s about it.’
‘Well, it’s beautiful,’ he said and the others said some similar things.
Then, because the sun was out, and because the light was right, and because I was sitting in a street in Florida drawing a picture of a house, as the 2 elderly men and the woman and the girl all turned to walk away, I called out, ‘You all have a nice day now.’
And I really meant it.

While I was drawing this, 2 middle-aged women with dark orange tans came up the street on bicycles, pulled up on either side of me, looked down and started talking at me.
‘Well, hey there!’ said the woman to my right. ‘I see you’re doing some painting!’
‘Actually,’ I said, putting a pastel back in its box and looking up at her, ‘I’m drawing.’
‘Oh, how neat!’ she shouted out.
Then the other woman started talking.
‘On Oprah yesterday there was an artist who did this like massive portrait,’ she said, letting go of her handlebars and drawing a big air square with her hands. ‘And he’s like the fastest portraitist in the world. And he was like doing this portrait in 2 minutes only using his hands, no brushes, and right alongside of him they had the fastest violinist in the world and he was playing Vivaldi, one of the seasons, I don’t know which season, but it was really, really fast.’
Then the other woman shouted out how neat again, and then, without even waiting for my response to the Oprah portrait story, they both told to me to be sure to have a great day and rode off.

While I was drawing this, a blonde woman with a whippet crossed the square in my direction.
As she passed behind me I could tell that her and the dog had stopped and they were looking down at my picture.
I took my headphones off and turned and looked up at her.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Wow wee!’ she said, looking from the drawing to the house and back. ‘You got that light there just right.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Are you selling them?’ she said.
‘Are you buying?’ I said back.
She laughed.

While I was drawing this, a man came up to me and said, in a German accent, ‘Is this the square where they made the movie?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Which movie are you talking about?’
‘Forrest Gump,’ he said.
And then, maybe out of embarrassment, he started laughing.
And then, because he was laughing, I started laughing too.

While I was drawing this, it was early evening and a series of teenagers on red motor scooters were going up and down the street in front of me while a short, chubby woman with hair like a Lego man shouted instructions at them, ‘A little gas, a little break, a little gas, a little break, a little gas, a little break!’
Then, as if I’d called out hey who’s related to that motorcycle instructor, a middle-aged man came over to me, pointed to the woman and said, ‘That’s my sister. She’s got a whole heap of them motor scooters so she’s teaching my kids to ride ’em.’
Then, because I didn’t know what else to say, I said, ‘I have a proper motorbike at home.’
Then the man, who was wearing shorts but no shirt, put his hands on his hips, turned his attention fully toward me and started to tell me the story of how he’d once had a motorbike.
But luckily, before he was too far in, he got distracted by his sister who had stopped screaming out motorcycle instructions and was now bellowing out information about their evening meal.
‘We’re going to take the scooters out onto A1A!’ she was crying out. ‘We’re gonna go order pizzas! We’re gonna head on down there now and get us some supper underway!’

While I was drawing this, a man came up and started talking to me, and after some small talk we got on the subject of God.
He was a big fan of God and he talked to me for quite a while on the topic until he told me he, too, was an artist and had drawn a comic book, which he then took out of his backpack and showed me.
I told him it looked very good and good luck with it.
Then he told me that he didn’t have a job, that he lived on the street and did odd jobs for people.
I felt like asking him why, if God was so amazing, he didn’t get him a job and his own house.
But I didn’t.

While I was drawing this, a man came out from the house behind me and asked me if I’d draw a picture of his house for his father.
With him were three little kids sucking at ice creams and cans of coke.
‘Yes, I’ll draw your father’s house,’ I said.
Then it started to rain slightly so they all ran inside and I started packing up.
‘Come up and get my card!’ the man called out.
After I’d put my drawing stuff in the car I went to look for the guy.
I found his apartment at the top of some stairs.
‘C’mon in,’ he said. ‘You wanna beer?’
After I said no to the beer he introduced me to his wife, who was called Sherri, or maybe Candy, and his three boys.
Then he went looking for his business card and I stood in the doorway staring at the TV while the rest of the family stared at it from the sofa.
They were watching a show about killer snakes.
‘Y’see that, kids,’ Sherri/Candy said, ‘that snake bit that little boy and all the skin fell off his face.’

While I was drawing this, a guy came out of the house behind me and said, ‘Hey, my wife just rang me and said there’s some cute girl out front doing some painting.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I said, looking up at him thinking his wife shouldn’t have been driving if she thought I was a ‘cute girl’.
Then a woman pulled up in the driveway of the house I was drawing and came over to see what I was doing.
She had a little girl with her.
‘Can I draw?’ said the little girl.
I said yes and gave her a piece of paper and a pastel.
Then, holding the pastel like she was going to use it to stab the cat or something, me and the guy and the mother watched as the child started making manic circles all over the paper.
Then the guy asked if he could take a picture of me and the drawing.
I said yes and he went inside, came back with a camera and took a picture.
Then he said, ‘If you want to use the bathroom, come on in, the door’s open, or if you want a beer when you finish up?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Then, because she’d seen me spraying mine with hairspray, the child asked me to spray her drawing.
So I gave it a squirt to fix it.
Then the mother said to the child, ‘Come on, Chloe, let’s go inside.’
Chloe didn’t want to go but I gave her a pastel to keep, and another piece of paper, and
then the guy told me he was going inside and to just come in when I finished.
‘I want you to see my house,’ he said. ‘Richard Boone drank himself to death in it.’

While I was drawing this, a tourist trolley went up and down the street, filled with people wearing sun visors and over-sized tee shirts.
A few cars pulled in and out of the driveway, and for a while someone even parked on the front lawn, but I drew around the car.
Then a pair of women stopped and I took my headphones off and looked up at them.
‘My that’s pretty,’ one of them said, referring to my drawing.
‘She does water colours, don’t you, honey?’ said the other one, smiling and looking over at the woman who’d spoken first.
‘Nice,’ I said as they walked off.
Then, having taken a break as the church bells began to ring, I put my headphones back on and listened to Kris Kristofferson singing Sunday Morning Coming Down while I ate an entire packet of Cheetos: a small, cheese-flavoured, processed, yellow snack food shaped like a turd.

While I was drawing this, the owner of the house pulled up in her car, crossed the road to see what I was doing, and said, ‘Oh my that’s pretty, I’m going to send my husband out.’
About half an hour later the husband crossed the road, stood to my right, looked down at my drawing and started telling me the history of the house and his suburb.
‘It’s California style,’ he told me. ‘I’ve had the house 21 years but it’d been standing for 20 before we got it.’
Then he told me his son still lived at home, but that his daughter had gone.
‘This was the first suburb built on the island and there’s no sewerage system.’
Then suddenly he changed the subject.
‘What’s a pretty, young thing like you doing with all that mess up your arms?’ he said, pointing at my tattoos. ‘And all up your legs?’

While I was drawing this, a man who was just about to get into his wreck of a car on the other side of the street looked over and saw me, and after looking both ways, ran across the street and asked me what I was doing.
‘I’m drawing that house,’ I said to the man as I pulled one earbud* out.
Then the man, who was dressed as if he might be a mechanic – in dirty, greasy, black clothes – told me that the drawing was beautiful and that I was really talented.
‘Thank you,’ I told him.
‘I can’t draw at all,’ he said. ‘I wish I could.’
‘You could if you practiced,’ I said to him and smiled.
The man laughed very loudly and said nah.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘gotta go! Keep up the good work. Bye!’
‘Thanks,’ I said, and he gave me a little wave.
And as he ran back across the street to get into his wreck of a car, I noticed that the hem of his jeans legs were badly frayed and he was wearing no shoes.
Then I went back to my drawing until about 20 minutes later when a woman in light blue scrubs stopped and said, ‘Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that’s a beautiful drawing. Wonderful.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I said.
‘I wish I could do that,’ she said, and I smiled and nodded.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s really . . . good fun.’

*Today’s podcast: The New Yorker Radio Hour- Glenn Close Doesn’t Play Evil

While I was drawing this, a man, and a young boy on a scooter, came along the sidewalk behind me, and as I turned to them the man bent forward and pointed at my drawing, said something to the boy, and the boy smiled.
The boy, who was standing with one foot on his scooter, and holding the handle bars, was nodding his head and laughing so I waved and smiled and said hello.
‘Say hello,’ the man said to the boy, and the boy said hello to me.
I paused my podcast and asked the boy, who was wearing a white polo shirt, grey trousers, and what looked like Lego man hair, if he liked to draw.
The boy nodded and said yes very quietly.
‘Come over here and try my pastels then,’ I said to him.
I held out a pastel to him but he didn’t come over, he just put a hand up to his mouth and dropped his head forward in that conflicted way children do when they want, but are unsure if they should have.
‘Come on, try,’ I told him. ‘It’s fun.’
He then smiled and, encouraged by the man, dropped the scooter and came to stand next to me.
‘Here, watch this,’ I said, and I drew a long, fat line on the section of blank paper I leave on the edge of my drawings for trying out colours.
‘Your turn,’ I said to him, and held out the pastel to him.
He leaned forward, took the pastel, and then with his arm outstretched and stiff, drew a long line of yellow ochre on the paper.
‘It’s CHALK!’ he shouted.
‘It IS’! I shouted back, and we both laughed.
Then the boy pointed to my can of fixative.
‘What’s that stuff?’ he said.
‘You know what smudging is?’ I asked the boy.
The boy shook his head, so I gave him a brief explanation and demonstration of smudging and then I said, ‘Now cover your nose and mouth, you don’t want this smelly stuff getting in there!’
The boy raised his eyebrows and slapped his hands over his mouth, and I sprayed fixative over the line he’d drawn.
‘Now watch this magic,’ I told the boy, wiping my hand across the fixed line. ‘See how it doesn’t smudge where I sprayed, so now I can draw over the top?’
‘What’s it called?’ he said.
‘Fixative,’ I told him.
The boy raised his eyebrows again and said, ‘Oooooh, can I try?’
But before I could say yes, the man called to the boy and he went back to the sidewalk.
‘Hey,’ I called over to him, ‘do you draw at school?’
‘Yes,’ he called back, ‘and today I made a giraffe!’
‘You did?’ I said. ‘Woah! I wish I could see it!’
‘Ha!’ the boy said, throwing his hands up and describing the giraffe by yelling something I couldn’t understand.
The man and I were both enjoying the boy’s tale, when suddenly I heard a car’s screeching tires and looked over to see a fat woman walking hurriedly from a car parked in the middle of the street.
‘There you are, goddamn it, goddamn it, goddamn it!’ I heard her shriek at what I could see was a small, beige dog ignoring her while it placidly shat on the sidewalk.

*Today’s podcast: Trumpcast-Raiding Trump’s fixer, dealmaker, lawyer.

While I was drawing this, a man from the house opposite called out, ‘Two kinds of painters painting houses today!’
The house next to his had the painters in, and I called back to him, ‘Yes, but only one of them is getting paid for it!’
The man, who was standing at the edge of his garden with a shovel in his hand, told me he had been watching me for a while, and that he had watched me walk to the corner, stop and look at the house, cross the street to look at the house from another angle, and then choose and sit myself down.
‘I was looking for the light,’ I told him, ‘but the weather’s not SoCal perfect now with the June Gloom already in March, so I’m lucky to get an hour and a half of drawing in.’
The man, who had a hairstyle like Benjamin Franklin’s, a stubbled beard, rough, red face and small, brownish teeth, and looked to be around 65, laughed.
‘The weather comes whenever it wants now,’ he said to me. ‘It’ll be sunny again next week.’
Then he told me that the drought of the last few years had given him a reason to let his grass  die, until someone had dropped a couple of rocks on it at which time he’d decided to make a garden.
‘This is my first,’ he told me, turning away to look at the garden.
He seemed so pleased with himself and eager to show it off, that I crossed the street to have a look at it.
‘The first garden of your whole life?’ I asked him, and he told me yes, his whole life.
His garden was a wide corner lot featuring several small areas of plants surrounded by rocks.
The plants were succulents of various kinds.
‘I can see you’re a succulent man,’ I said, tilting my head toward a large jade plant that was growing up, out of, and along the ground.
Then he pointed out the different kinds of plants he had.
‘See this here,’ he said, pointing to a cabbage plant and then leaning over to touch a leaf. ’99 Cent Store. This one’s a cut-off this one . . . who’d have thought it would grow so big?’
‘That’s what happens when you feed living things,’ I told him. ‘They grow.’
The man laughed.
‘I get rocks from all over the place, plants from all over the place, cut-offs from friends,’ he said.
‘Do you like cactus?’
‘Cactus?’ he said. ‘No . . . not really. I don’t like anything spiky.’
‘Whaaaaaa?’ I said. ‘You don’t like a cactus?’
‘Which kind?’ he asked me.
‘I don’t know the names exactly, but there’s the one that produces a large, white flower at sundown. I got a huge arm from a friend’s plant,’ I told him. ‘Glorious!’
Then I went on to tell him about my cactus garden, and how I keep it in pots in the parking lot of the old motel where I live because there’s only tar, no soil.
Then I told him he’s welcome to come and have a look at my cactus garden.
‘Oooh, I’d love that,’ he said and smiled.
‘Oh, my name’s Larry, by the way,’ he said, and I told him mine, and we told each other how nice it was to meet each other, and then he asked me what I was going to do with the drawing and I explained about the 100 houses project and he said, ‘Oh, great.’
Then we chatted about some other things and ended up on the topic of him being a videographer, and how he had filmed an artist who had been someone quite famous at some point but who was no longer alive.
‘He passed from us 5 years ago,’ Larry told me in a serious tone, ‘and the longest film ever shot of him was 7 minutes, and I just found some videotape of 30.’
Having no idea who or what he was talking about, I said, ‘Oh, okay!’ And left it at that.
And then, because I’d been standing there in a shirt as windproof as Kleenex, with my hands full of drawing equipment and a cheap straw hat blowing around on my head, I told Larry it was time for me to go.
‘It’s been a real pleasure talking to you,’ Larry said, and it had been a real pleasure talking to him too, but nowhere near the pleasure it had been saying goodbye to him and crossing that street and getting out of that nasty wind and back into the driver’s seat of my toasty car.

*Today’s Podcast: I Have to Ask Josh Barro

While I was drawing this, or just as I was finishing, the wind picked up so much that my drawing board flew off my easel and onto the road.
As I leaned over to pick it up, a large, black SUV turned into the driveway next to where I was sitting on the curb and stopped.
I looked up at it as the window rolled down and a woman wearing aviator sunglasses and an unfriendly expression around her mouth asked, ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’ve been sitting here drawing.’ I told her, pulling my earbuds out*.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said.
‘And just as I was finishing drawing that house over there,’ I said, pointing at the house I had been drawing, ‘my board flew away in the wind.’
‘Oh!’ said the woman in a semi high-pitched, excited tone. ‘That’s my good friends the L****s’s house!’
Then she stuck her head out of the window to look at the L****s’s house.
‘Really?! Really?!’ said the woman in an astonished tone, as if I had just told her that a spaceship had parked on the lawn and stolen the L****s’s cat.
I was waiting for her to say something like ‘Well. I’ll be damned!’ or ‘You don’t say!’ but she asked me if I was an artist and I told her yes.
‘Do you draw or paint, or are you an artist?’ I asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said, and then she added, ‘. . . amongst other things.’
I imagined she had a tidy room, maybe a conservatory, with a tiled floor and a soft rug in the back of her house where she painted and drank coffee from her Keurig.
Then she asked me what I was going to do with the drawing and I told her I’m drawing a hundred houses and then I will have an exhibition.
Then she asked me where and I told her I didn’t know where yet.
‘Let me give you my card,’ she said, ‘so you can let me know and I can tell the L***ses.’
‘Okay,’ I said and she found a card in her bag and gave it to me.
It was a shiny, black card with her name on it: Gail.
The card also told me she was a realtor, which would explain her lovely house and electric garage door which she was now putting into action.
‘It was lovely to meet you,’ she said as her SUV slipped off down the driveway to the garage. ‘Please let me know about your exhibition, the L***ises will be thrilled!’
‘I will,’ I said, standing there in the wind in my dirty hat and cheap clip-on sunglasses with my drawing board under my arm, holding Gail the artist-realtor’s glossy, black business card between my grubby fingers.

*Today’s podcast: Making Obama

While I was drawing this, a woman and a small boy came over and stood next to me.
I paused my podcast* and said hello.
‘He was asking and asking me to bring him out to see you draw,’ the woman said, looking down at the small boy whose hand she was holding. ‘He was asking and asking.’
‘Hello,’ I said to the boy, and I held up a pastel. ‘Would you like to have a try?’
The boy, who was wearing what looked like pyjamas – dark blue bottoms with a striped top – smiled and shook his head.
‘Do you like drawing?’ I said to him, and he said yes very quietly.
‘I think you’re about . . . hmmm . . . 4 years old?’ I said, and the boy nodded his head and smiled.
‘Do you want to be an artist when you grow up?’
The boy nodded.
‘You will have to practice a lot,’ I said. ‘Okay?’
He nodded.
‘Good chap!’ I said to him.
Then the woman asked me why I was drawing the house and I told her I liked drawing houses and that I planned to draw 100 and then have an exhibition.
‘The houses around here have good character,’ I said. ‘They’re lived in.’
‘It used to be all Mexican,’ she told me, ‘but now it’s changing.’
‘Gentrification.’ I said, and she said yes and nodded her head and sighed.
Then she told me she had lived here for a long time, but originally she’d come from Northern California, where it’s still a bit cheaper.
‘Not San Francisco,’ she said. ‘It’s crazy what they’re doing there. Who can live there anymore? Who can afford it?’
‘People who work for Google, or Facebook, or Lyft, or Uber,’ I said. ‘Of course, not the cleaners.’
The woman laughed and asked me why I live in the US.
I told her I’d come here on a marriage visa, but now I was having some issues renewing it.
Then she told me about her friend who was German.
‘She came here when she was 2,’ she said, ‘and every few years she would just renew her visa and everything was fine. But now, all of a sudden, she’s having problems with it. They’re asking her all sorts of questions.’
‘Everyone has a friend with a story like this,’ I told her. ‘I’m probably someone’s friend with a story like this!’
We both laughed.
‘Everything is so much worse since he . . .’ she said, not finishing her sentence.
‘Was elected?’ I said.
‘Yes!’ she said, laughing. ‘You know, you never know who you can say it to.’
‘Oh, you can say it to me,’ I said. ‘You can surely say it to me.’
We both laughed, and then she said it was lovely talking to me, and that they should let me get back to my drawing. I said it was lovely talking to her too.
And just as they were about to walk away, I asked their names.
The woman said Anna.
And the boy said Diego.
‘Diego!’ I said, and held out my hand. ‘Let’s shake hands.’
And Diego smiled and we shook hands.
And then Anna said good luck with your visa, and I said thank you, I’m sure I will need it.

*Todays podcast: BBC The Documentary- Escaping Croatia’s Asylums

Today’s podcast: 99% Invisible Biljmer, City of the Future Part 1

While I was drawing this, not much happened.
A woman went back and forth in front of the house with a small, white dog, nodding and quietly saying hello each time.
A man dressed from shoe to hat in white approached me and said, ‘Your drawing sure is beautiful.’
A woman pulled up in front of the house, made a short phone call with the engine still running and then left.
And then the man who owned the house behind me pulled up in his driveway, got out of his car, came over, looked down at the drawing and me and said, ‘What’s wrong with my house? It wasn’t beautiful enough to draw?’
We both laughed and I told him there hadn’t been any light on his house when I started drawing, and he put his hands in his pocket and nodded his head and said I see.
Then he told me my drawing was beautiful and I thanked him and he turned to go inside.
‘Hello!’ called out a woman who had gotten out of the car with him from the lawn in front of his house.
‘Hello and goodbye!’ I said and laughed.
She laughed too, and then I put my earbuds back in and went back to my podcast* and drawing.

———–
*Today’s podcast: Making Obama WBEZ Chicago

While I was drawing this, a man – who I had seen earlier watering his garden with a hose (whilst I had been driving around looking for a house to draw) – came over and stood behind me.
I took my earbuds out so the man, who was bald and wearing a dark blue golfing shirt, blue trousers and had his hands on his hips, could talk to me.
‘Oh!’ he said. ‘I see you’re drawing the Lowe’s house.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘is that their name?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
Then he said a few things about it being a nice house, and I said a few things in agreement, and then we said goodbye and I put my earbuds back in and went back to my podcast* and drawing.
Then, a few minutes later, a small pickup went past, slowly, and because I thought it was about to stop in front of the Lowe’s house, I paid it attention.
When it didn’t stop, I continued to watch it go down the street wondering where it would stop, when all of a sudden it went off the road, up onto the grass and quietly ran into – and then over – a large, plastic-topped mailbox that was attached to a concrete base, encircled by plants and flowers. That mailbox sat in front of the house of the hose man I had spoken to about my drawing only a few minutes before.
Then, as I was wondering if whomever was driving it might have had an aneurism and lost control, an elderly man in a hat and overalls got out and walked around to the back of the pickup.
‘Damn!’ I heard him yell.
Then I heard the hose man calling out to the elderly man, and then after a few moments I heard them laughing.
And I laughed too and then went back to my drawing.

Then, about half an hour later, when I was about 5 minutes from finishing, the owner of the Lowe’s house pulled up in the driveway and came over to talk to me.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘That’s beautiful.’
I told her thank you and she asked me why I was drawing her house.
‘I like drawing houses,’ I told her, ‘and the light and the grass. And California is perfect for it.’
I told her I was drawing 100 houses and that once I was finished I would have an exhibition of them. ‘I write stories about what happens while I draw them,’ I told her. ‘So you’ll be in this one.’
She laughed and said, ‘My husband would love that drawing. Would you sell it?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I just have a bit more work to do on it.’
‘Okay, great!’ she said, and we swapped numbers.
‘It’s from the 60’s, right?’ I said as I packed up my pastels and paper and drawing board.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and we’ve had it 8 years.’
Then we talked more about the house.
‘You know, my husband loves this house,’ she said. ‘Every night when he comes home from work he says “I love my house. I just love my house”‘.

——–
*Today’s podcasts:
Kurt Anderson Studio 360, Papa Was a Rolling Stone
Preet Bharara Stay Tuned With Preet, Free Speech in the Age of Trump

While I was drawing this, I heard a noise (through my earbuds, over the sound of the podcast I was listening to) and turned to see a man with an unhappy look on his face standing on the grass of the house just behind me.
‘Sorry?’ I said, removing my earbuds. ‘What was that?’
‘What is it you’re doing there?’ he called out.
‘I’m drawing!’ I called back to him.
‘What are you drawing?’ he asked, walking toward me.
‘I’m drawing that house across the street,’ I said. ‘That one there, the pink one.’
‘Oh okay, well . . .’ he said.
‘I know it can look suspicious, someone sitting in the street like this.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It sure does look suspicious.’
The man said nothing else, just turned and walked across the grass toward his house.
I watched him walk away.

———
Today’s podcast: Sword and Scale Episode 107

While I was drawing this, I heard a man’s voice over the sound of my podcast and I looked up to see a smiling man dressed in grey sports clothes, sunglasses and a golfing cap looking down at me.
I paused my podcast and took my earbuds out and smiled up at the man.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you but that’s a beautiful drawing.’
I told him thank you and he told me that I had captured the light. I said thank you again and then he told me he was terrible at drawing, but that his wife was good at art, and that he was good at golf.
I told him I was terrible at golf, that I had only played once.
‘It didn’t get you hooked?’ he asked me.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s a dreadful game. I don’t think I even made 3 holes.’
He laughed and asked me where my accent was from.
‘Australia,’ I said. ‘Have you been?’
‘Yes,’ he told me. ‘I went to Sydney. I loved it there. Beautiful.’
‘I’m from Melbourne,’ I lied.
Then the man held out his hand and said, ‘My name is Gregory.’
‘Gregory,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to shake your hand because my hands are filthy.’
But Gregory didn’t care and he shook my hand.
Then, after I told him my name, has asked me if I would do a drawing of his house.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Not this week, though, but next week for sure.’
‘It’ll be for my wife,’ he said.
Then he told me the number of his house and I put it in my phone and said I would leave a note on his door once I had done the house.
‘Okay,’ he said and smiled.
I smiled back at him and he said he should let me get back to my drawing and bid me goodbye and so I put my earbuds back in, turned my podcast on and went back to my drawing.

About 10 minutes later, I looked up from my drawing to see Gregory standing there with a smiling woman.
I paused my podcast and said hello.
‘Hello again,’ said Gregory. ‘I hope you don’t mind – this is my wife.’
‘Hello,’ I said as Gregory’s wife held out her hand toward me.
‘I don’t think you want to shake my hand,’ I said. ‘It’s filthy.’
I tried to fist-bump her, but she laughed and said she didn’t mind shaking, so – we shook hands.
‘My name is Helen,’ she said and laughed.
I laughed too, and then Helen told me she liked my drawing and that she had studied art at college and that she wished she still drew.
Then we talked about pastels.
‘These are soft pastels,’ I told her. ‘They’re perfect because there’s no waiting, they’re instantly workable.’
I made some marks on a spare piece of black paper with a pastel I was holding and then sprayed some fixative on it.
‘Watch this,’ I said to Helen, and then I drew over the layer of the fixed pastel, showing her that I’d made layers of still, vivid colours.
Helen asked to see the can of fixative.
‘You can use hairspray,’ I told her. ‘It’s cheaper but it tends to have splodges of oil in it which can spoil your drawing.’
Then we talked about an art store we both knew, a place on La Cienega that Gregory calls the Costco of art supplies.
‘You can spend a fortune in there on stuff you didn’t know you wanted,’ he said.
We laughed at this and then Helen said it was lovely to meet me and that she was looking forward to the portrait of their house and Gregory put out his hand again for shaking.
For a few moments I watched them walk away and then, when it was safe, I put my earbuds back in and started my podcast up, but it was only about 5 minutes until I was interrupted again – this time by the first woman who’d spoken to me just after I’d started drawing.
‘Do you mind if I take a photo for my neighbour?’ she said, holding her phone out in front of her.  ‘Might encourage her to water her grass more often.’

——————
*Today’s Podcast: Atlanta Monster, a podcast about Wayne Williams, serial killer