The haggard, tired artist sat on his stool, a horrendous cough blew out the mans lips as he put on his old withered coat, blood had gotten on his sleeve. His wine eyes observed his latest piece, a woman, with the blackest of hair, but- white streak cut through the hair itself like a wound. Her beauty made the artist sigh as he looked ever more tired than he has ever been. He waited... and waited- but of course as he should have always known.
No one was showing up.