Peeking up, I steal another at his figure in the back of the milk bar, taking in all of his idiosyncrasies. The way he clutched his milk close to his chest unlike his friends who balanced the glasses on their knees or big shocker here, a table. He also had his feet propped on the table in a dominating fashion. Such fashion gave him a pompous almost pretentious air about him. He surveyed his surroundings with a predator-like glare whereas he's friends seemed to be lost in thought. He was deep in thought no doubt, yet judging by his focus one could question the severity of his conscience. In a strange way, the location seemed like the perfect milieu for their presence. The white outfits they wore made them look like statues occupying the bar causing them to look no different than the models which surround them. The observation struck me a funny and I chuckle all quiet like. They wanted so hard to stand out against others, yet in here they were just another objectified object.

I run my finger over the ring of my still empty glass. I didn't come here for the drinks. No, I came here for the sights. With that in mind, I continue on with my sketch making sure to capture every detail possible of him, the way his hat swooped in a perfect angle highlighting his striking blue eyes. I bet he has practiced the pose in the mirror; it was far too perfected to be natural. His hair covered his ears in two puffs. I had no other way to describe it. It appeared he must have combed it after putting the cap on. Such a vain one. Since I have started this sketch two nights ago I am finding this to be a reoccurring night. As much I have an extreme distaste for the characteristic I now had an obligation to fulfill. I refuse to have unfinished work. It lingers around you never allowing you rest. Of course this could be my mild OCD behavior kicking in. Regardless of the reason why, I knew I needed to finish.

Smudging my charcoal pencil to add definition to his nose I glance back up to see him staring back at me. My breath catches in my chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck... Stepping into my calm persona I give him a slight nod before returning to my work. Fuck... I had been doing so well not being caught. My days without incidents had been nearing double digits. I decide to glance at the table his feet were propped on. Is table even the right word? I suppose so. It seems so insensitive though. Understanding they were merely manikins did not make it any easier to ignore the fact they were being dehumanized. Even if they were inanimate it still felt like I was violating something as I drew them. I pay attention to the synthetic hair on the one where he planted his feet. She stared on in full submission, vulnerable to anyone's cruelties. What would she speak of if she could? Is she happy? I look to my own table. She had pink hair and the fluorescent light reflected off the tinsel resembling her pubic hair. I had named her Amelia. I completed her sketch a day earlier reversing her pose with the men. She stood above them with one knee raised and placed on the man's chest. She looked at him with distaste as she slipped her milk plus.

"Hi, hi, hi there!" The sudden voice caused me to jerk up banging my knee on Amelia's tail bone. I wince feeling it bruise instantly. I wished Amelia had better curves so the angle of her bone had not of rammed into my knee cap with such vigor.

"Good afternoon, day, er... Hi..." I stumble through my social blunder with clenched teeth attempting to ignore the sting. He watches with a mild smirk which causes my temper to flare ever so slightly.

"You were drawing your humble narrator just now, were you not my malenky devotchka?" He mock resting his hands and chin on his cane which he on Amelia's stomach, letting his cane lean on her for support.

I roll my eyes shoving his cane off of her causing his balance to waver.

"Do not flatter yourself, I was sketching the lady, your feet just happened to be residing there." My voice was relaxed and at ease.

He lifted a brow.

"Oh? May I viddy thou's work?" He reaches for my book; however, I take it back placing it in my lap.

"It's not finished." I reason feeling my cheeks flush. Generally no one sees my artwork. I enjoy drawing for myself; it allows my art to be carefree. Perhaps I sound like a pretentious artsy bitch, but I like the quality of my work when it's not judged.

"You come here often. I see you watching us in the corner oddy knocky." He sits too close beside me as I stare at Amelia begging for words of wisdom from a piece of plastic. Studying his wrist I see unique cuff links and carefully take his wrist to further examine them.

"These are so very peculiar; I've seen some like them in an old vintage shop. They are quite odd." I release his wrist placing my hands back in my lap awkwardly.

"You were drawing me." He states again staring me down. I could feel his eyes on my face as they bore deep, penetrating my conscience.

"That is still up for debate." I mumble looking into his blue eyes.

"If you let me see the picture the debate can be settled right right?"

I loosen my grip handing it over crossing my arms over my chest nervously. He takes it opening it with care gazing at all of my pervious sketches. I drum my nails on my knee before retrieving my smaller sketch book from my purse and start to doodle in order to calm my nerves. He continued examining my work with a small smile.

"These are quite dobby, my dear." He whispers flipping another page.

I shrug working on some gears, the sound of my pencil scraping paper was deafening as I felt my heart thunder in my chest. I could hear ticking in my head, like a time bomb waiting for his approval. Gears works with each other grinding in harmony and numbers go clockwise; a chain taunt, on the verge of breaking as he reaches his portrait.

"She is lovely. The malchick isn't too bad either." He touches the page gingerly.

I narrow my eyes at him

"Yes, and it should have been finished by now, yet this boy came up and ruined my concentration." My voice teasing as I add a shadow to my sketch giving it an eerie appearance like it could foresee an impending doom.

"What an inconsiderate droog." He states in mock disbelief.

"My thoughts exactly"

He scoots closer locking eyes with me.

"What if the malchick was to sit here all still-like so the lovely malenky artist could make a new one real horrorshow?" He smirks sitting up perfectly still.

"The 'average' artist would remind the boy she was merely drawing the lady not him and bid him good day." I smile placing my book back in my bag.

I stand giving him a small smile.

"Good day, Alex."

He stares at me with confusion as I step out of the bar into the night. I think of my clock still on the table its gears twisted in a mangled mess and numbers in the wrong places, a jumbled mess of mechanical vomit. Then the word:

"Govoreet Chepooka…."

Hi...

So this is pretty much up to your interpretation. Let me know what you think.