London’s rainy streets were filled with pedestrians rushing along them and I stood cautiously underneath main street’s library overhang, which had been sheltering me from the downpour for the last twenty or so minutes. I, as an Artist, had been simply observing people as they walked, dodged, jumped and stood in the rainy obstacle course. Then quickly sketching their forms down into my beat up sketchbook, which had pages brimming with year old drawings from this same place on the same day at the same hours. I spotted a woman in a black leather coat wearing a feathered hat that, in better weather conditions, would have been fluffy as a chick, but it drooped like the fur of the wet dog on my feet. My pencil moved without me having to look at the paper, I only looked at the woman and her droopy hat. My concentration was so all consuming that at first I did not notice that man who had sidled up to me with a glint of silver in his hands. The shard of glass was tinted an impenetrable pink that seemed unfitting in the setting full if greys, blacks and browns. The woman disappeared out of view down the street and i looked down at my book and saw her exact double sketched across half the yellowish page. I had completed the nineteenth portrait of a stranger, the last was almost always the most rushed of them all. I then looked around me, searching for my last task, and I saw a figure holding a black umbrella and sporting a black jacket just like the droopy woman’s. Though at the time i did not notice the similarity. The umbrella shadowed his face and I only saw it clearly when the faint light from the library windows dimly illuminated his face. To say it was male was quite an assumption. The man was slightly hunkered and his face was as pale as a daisy on the side of a country road, covered in dust. I startled back as I saw his pale, seemingly unseeing eyes that were not the expected white, but an unworldly light blue that glowed slightly.