"White, I need white.." Kamil tells me. The wind cuts through my jacket like a cold knife. Icy shivers crawl up my neck as I reach for the can of spray paint. I put the sticky nozzle in its place and prepare the pallet for my homeless alcoholic art professor.
Suddenly without the slightest warning a furious gust of wind passed by and took off with our finished paintings, we had left drying on the sidewalk, dragging them across the filthy streets of Palermo, Sicily.
This was a typical day of a street artist working outside in winter unprotected from the elements. Nature was definitely not our friend. We scrambled up on our feet to recover our work while cursing to ourselves.
"Don't worry, be happy," I tell myself. "This is what you signed up for....the romantic life of a street artist is what you wanted, right?"
After we gathered up our battered and bruised paintings, we sat back down on the cold cement to continue our work. "I need green," Kamil orders.
Normally, he would be doing this himself but a recent street altercation had left him handicapped with a broken hand, an injury that will forever hinder his artistic abilities. "Now yellow," he commanded. I changed the nozzle again and started spraying the fluorescent color onto the palate from which Kamil was dipping his cheap 7 for a dollar Chinese-made paint brushes.
The wind came from nowhere and sent the mist of yellow paint into my eyes. Half blind, I drop everything and sprint for the nearest gelateria, praying that the shop owners would let me use their bathroom without purchasing any ice cream. I had been broke for 2 months now ever since my roommate stole my debit card and took out all my money to buy the cocaine to which he was addicted. I wondered how long it takes before the spray paint dries onto my pupils. "Don't worry, be happy," I keep repeating to myself........