This is just an artwork done I think a year ago. With a lot of whisky (getting rid of the fear of freedom) and some leftover charcoal and a blank canvas, I tried to draw something. With it a short story, I don't know if it makes sense.

The Man by the River

There once stood an old man by the river reading a newspaper. Across the river was a tree with hundreds of birds in it. On his side of the river was the shop that sold the newspaper. A young girl walked out of the shop giving the man a cup of steaming hot coffee. The man took the coffee with no reply but his smile and sat down at a table. He continued reading the paper. I walked to the man and sat across him. He startled, his face showed shock and unbelief.
“Hello,” I said.
He didn’t answer back.
“I am back,” I said.
He again didn’t answer back. The shock remained on his face. He placed the newspaper on the table in front of me. I could see the headline, something about a dead soldier in a godforsaken country where war raged on and on. I didn’t read any further. The steam from the coffee danced seductively between me and the old man. The girl came out of the shop again, placing another coffee between us, adding more steam to the seductive dance patterns. She walked again without a smile. I looked at her while she walked back into the shop. She couldn’t be older than twenty. She was beautiful. I looked back at the old man.
“I am back,” I said again, with more emphasis.
“I see,” the old man answered at last. Barely louder than a whisper.
The birds across the river chirped in the tree. I looked the old man in the eyes. “She is mine,” I said.
“I know.”
“You know.”
I stood up from the table and reached for the newspaper. I gave it to the old man, but he did not take it. I through it onto his lap. I took my coffee and walked across the river. Across the river, I turned back to look at the old man. He sat still. I could only see his back. He still did not read the newspaper, but drank some of the coffee. I took a sip of my coffee as well. I turned around and walked to the tree where the birds sang out of. I could not see the old man anymore.

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