“What are you doing?” Hannah surveyed the discarded canvas in the alley.
“I’m taking the frame,” Kurt said, brushing off the accumulated dust.
“Why?”
“It’s nice.”
“And the painting?”
“Utter crap. Unsigned.”
Kurt scorned artists who were not proud enough to sign their creations.
“But–”
Kurt ambled away, the frame swinging from the crook of his elbow.
Hannah’s lips puckered, and her eyes narrowed. Kurt’s obsession with “artistic sensibilities” blinded him to the beauty inherent in everyday life’s casual clutter.
An idea flickered, wheels turned, and new collage formed. She snatched the picture, realizing who had scored garbage gold.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer