(Untitled)

[shecalledmefred]

Hey, I just walked in from a bar. My friend T.C.'s bar, to be exact. A jazz club. It hadn't opened for the night when I left, though it was almost about to. I had just finished helping him and his band practice for the night. I've done this for a while, and took almost as long for T. to convince me to take my vocals out of the shower and into the

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[call_me_kick]

Kick is already at Bar, cheerfully coloring.

She's just drawn a bluejay and may or may not be going way overboard with the blue.

She thinks it's pretty, though, and that's all that matters.

[shecalledmefred]

She is going overboard with the blue. That's children's art for you, though. No moderation or aesthetically pleasing color scheme to be found.

I take a seat on a stool, occasionally looking over to check on her progress.

[call_me_kick]

The color may be wild, but it's a pretty impressive bluejay for a seven year old. It actually looks like a jay, rather than a giant blue blob with a beak and twiggy legs.

"Hiya, mister," she says without looking at him, coloring around the white stripe on the bird's wing.

[shecalledmefred]

"Hello," I reply, glancing at her artwork again. "That's a nice blue jay you're drawing."