Her art impressed me. Very dark, but really good. Probably because they reminded me of the German Expressionists I always loved. And surrealistic, tho...gh more nightmares than any regular dream, but somehow not disturbing. Like she gazed into the heart of darkness and examined it instead of being frightened by it. I bought a large painting and paid for her to cast in bronze a clay sculpture she had just done. She was skeptical that I was just doing it to be nice, and I tried to convince her that. She was nineteen, him being her teacher was the only problem. She was first in class, she sat in against the wall at the very back of the room, her favourite place where she could touch herself and wink as Mr Dean looked up. Every time she had done this, he attempted to smile back although flustered he failed, before looking down and correcting the students course work on his desk. Class began; Algebra. About forty minutes had passed, she rolled her eyes and roughly fingered her hair, looking. More

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