17. Art District

Adrian

This morning I took Fany to campus as usual.

Fany pondered with an empty lament. He didn't even blink. I know what causes it, but I'm afraid to interfere. He didn't like discussing family matters the most, not even Alfred.

I cleared my throat, then spoke breaking the silence. "Maybe later I'll come late to pick you up. Or better today you go home with your friends."

"Why?"

"I want to sign an employment contract," I replied, parking the car on the side of the road in front of the campus building.

Fany's eyes rolled perfectly. "Are you planning on having a drink during the day? Where? With whom? Come on, I'll go in first."

"Fan, if you wait it can be long. You go home alone if you can't wait, huh!"

I hope he hears because I'm serious, going out with Carl today.

Fanny didn't look up. It seems he doesn't believe that I want to change. Maybe he just believed if one day I really changed. What can we do about it. All because he saw me sleeping with the vet the other day.

I drove to pick up Carl in front of the art faculty building, he sat where Fany sat earlier. With him. Today I skipped college in order to fulfill an appointment with him to visit the workplace he intended.

Carl asked, “Where were you yesterday? I saw a girl drag you to church.”

Damn, he saw it. "My mom."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, my mother. Why?"

Carl's shoulders heave up and down, either because my lying skills are too good, or he really trusts people easily. Now he turned the subject of the chat into a workplace. He became a good salesman, telling the good and the advantages of the place I would work without telling the bad things.

I just nodded. My mind prefers to think about other things, like what happened yesterday. Poor Fany, I don't know what happened in the devil's cage, but after getting out of there Fany cried. Until now he had forgotten how to smile.

I hated that old demon myself, for calling my mother a whore. Even though it's been a long time, the wound in the heart doesn't go away. The wound only got bigger every time I saw or heard the old fart.

We arrived in the Santee Alley district, a busy shopping and tourist area. Many shops stand, the shoulder of the road is crowded with parked cars. I slowed the car down, afraid I'd miss it.

"Where's your shop?" I asked.

The more we enter the Santee Alley area, the more pedestrians wee seen, they even fill the car road. Shops lined the left and right of the street selling various types of clothes and knick-knacks. Besides that many paintings are sold around here, paintings of street artists. The melodious sound of cool buskers playing guitar and piano on the sidewalk caught my attention. I love being here, art lovers paradise.

Carl pointed to a sizable shop next to the flower shop.

"Well, that's my uncle's shop. Stop right here, free parking."

He told me to park on the shoulder of the road, in front of the flower shop.

We entered the shop in question. Two tattoo chairs lined the center of the room. Near the door are several comfortable sofas. The walls are decorated with frames containing examples of tattoos. I love the smell of tattoo ink hitting my nose and this place is for me.

"Carl, your friend?" asked a fat black man, bald, in a white shirt. Just like Carl he likes to smile white teeth. "Introducing, my name is Johannes Johnson."