âż This article was featured in Issue #5 of the Atlantic Bulletin
Another paint-sketch â a painting done fast. Iâm trying to learn to a) paint and b) paint on an industrial scale.
Sheâd missed the fast tram, caught a tiny splinter in her thumb, lost a button and now the match wouldnât strike. It just wasnât her day.
They were in Callaisn (pronounced ka-lane), a borough of the capital Tzipora regarded as âthe worst of themâ for its tall buildings and labyrinthian concrete alleys. âBad people, bad food, bad smellsâ she said, flashing the tact she was known for. âLetâs go home.â
Callaisn was an oddity, built largely by the British during the occupation years in the fashion of London. It was nonetheless a thoroughly Vekllei borough, with its parks and tramways and rivulets, but it had a continental skyline marked by tower blocks and skyscrapers. A lot of boring business was done in Callaisn that Tzipora didnât care about.
Cobian frowned as Tzipora rotated a second match between her thumb and finger. She didnât like this nasty little habit sheâd picked up. âYouâll smell like your dad if you keep this up,â she said.
âSuits me,â said Tzipora.