Emma’s Complete Tushy Collection

We looked up alarmed. “Oh, have you been sketching?” Jean asked me, eyeing my pad. Jean lent across to take the pad and examine this other sketch. “So are you going to draw it from memory later?” she asked, intrigued. I was a watcher, outside, again. I pushed gently forward. I kept asking Naomi where plates, cutlery and all the rest were but was only getting short answers back. Two large bookcases behind the door, overflowing with worn and tattered novels. Perhaps Naomi would be sitting with her back, the hint of her breasts bulging to the sides and the gentle cushions of her bottom spreading on the seat, f-holes and strings drawn on her back as she played her cello. We ate lunch in awkward conversation with the friend on the end, who was trying to keep things civil.