#timefought002.

  Alice has had the journal open on her lap for awhile now, drawing in the spaces between the scribbled notes. A few Charlies have made their way there, some of them vague curves suggesting broad shoulders and a head held high. But today she’s been idly sketching in more and more details --- especially to the drawn Charlie’s curls, thick lines for definition, enough space left to suggest blondeness with only the pencil.

     And, eventually, that’s that. As Alice wipes smudged graphite from the side of her hand, she tilts her head at the page. Swears under her breath, without rancor.   “Not my best. You move a lot.”