My writing over the last few months has been either on the guitar or longer form prose, neither of which is conducive to a short story shared via email. All different mediums, firmly planted in jack of all trades, master of none territory.

Last night, though, I was at a festival featuring artists who seemed to have one primary focus. Painting, sculpture, pencil drawings, that sort of thing. The mastery showed.

I overheard two of them talking toward the end of the night. Well, sort of talking. One was sitting in a director’s chair to the side of his booth, painting on a canvas in his lap, while he waited for potential buyers to show interest in the work he’d hung on the temporary wall. The other had just rushed over to breathlessly tell him how he’d just sold 4 pieces, and thank God, because his cats aren’t going to feed themselves.
 
The guy in the chair didn’t answer right away. He put down his brush. Shook his head, only once. Offered a quick vacant stare at his crossed feet. Drew in a long breath. Let it out and closed his eyes, for barely longer than a blink. 
 
“Nothing here.”
 
I quickly turned away, already feeling like I’d invaded a moment of solitary reflection, or dejection, or an unsettled marriage of the two. His guest book was open down to my left, and to avoid eye contact, I read the most recent entry, dated that evening…a constellation of smiley faces over big, block letters.
 
JESUS LOVES YOU!!!!!
 
I looked back at the artist, who had started to clean his brush with a paper towel. 

Jesus must have left his wallet in the car.