The bus was late and the sky was turning the kind of purple that was oddly pretty if you weren’t about to get on a plane and fly directly into it.
Jerry Callinge was rethinking his miserly idea to save money before the trip to Atlanta.
Lester the Brush was painting a picture…kinda looked like Jackie Chan in action, Jerry thought. Lester didn’t seem hurried or worried about the storm.
No tourists were nearby.
Jerry’s dad had introduced him to Lester, gave Jerry a lesson on enterprise.
“See, Jerry’s dad told him “he has finished paintings for sale, but he keeps a tip jar for people who marvel at the speed at which he can pump out a painting. Even if he doesn’t sell a painting all day, he still has a pretty full tip jar.”
Weekday, bad weather, Lester’s tip jar was empty.
Jerry almost always threw Lester a few bucks, but if he got this job in Atlanta, money was gonna be tight for a month.
Lester turned and looked toward Jerry.
Jerry waved.
Lester didn’t return the wave.
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