Now Mateo is eight and we don’t have much.
We live in a small apartment with secondhand furniture and a kitchen table that wobbles unless you wedge a folded napkin under one leg. I work two jobs now m0rnings at a bakery, evenings cleaning offices. It’s exhausting.
But Mateo always has paper and pencils. Drawing is his world.
About six months ago, his pictures changed. He stopped drawing rockets and dinosaurs. Instead, he began drawing the same man.
Tall, bright red shirt, red hat, and a simple smile. The picture had no background. It was just the man, standing there.
Voir la suite sur la page suivante:
