January
Neal grunted, annoyed, as he tried to push his chair through a wall of ice a plow had jammed up against the sidewalk. Snow fell around them, cars driving by splashed through salty slush in the street.
Jones came up beside him, and made a casual pushing motion, Neal nodded. Jones gave him a firm push, helping him break through the dam. They crossed the street, Neal lifted the front wheels of his chair and managed to get them over the dam, but he couldn't get the big wheels through to follow.
Jones pushed and lifted from behind, getting him over, "gotta love winter in New York."
Neal chuckled, "thanks, Jones."
They entered the lobby, he and Jones went up to the usher, showed their tickets.
"Who is this guy we're seeing?" asked Jones, as they went into the music hall.
"Scott Wheeler," said Neal, "he does musical portraits. He sits with someone, and then writes a piece."
Later that week Diana sent Jones to get Neal and pick up lunch for their team. He went to Diana's office, and found Neal there, wearing headphones, sketching.
"That wouldn't happen to be Italian charcoal drawings like the ones in our case?"
Neal put his headphones down around his neck and showed Jones the sketchbook page. It had a few small studies on it, one of a few hand positions, another of the coffee station, he was working on shading one that had Diana standing over her desk, looking calm but authoritative.
Jones gave the sketchbook back to Neal, "cool. Diana sent us to get lunch."
Neal sat up and moved into the wheelchair. They headed down. Neal started sketching on a new page, focusing on the texture of the metal of the freight elevator floor. When they got to the restaurant he drew the middle aged woman who insisted they both have chai to warm up while they waited.
