He swirls paint water in wine glass pours half an ounce into his mouth, swishes it about. He’s learnt how to stop the gagging now. He sleeps atop easels, wakes up with uneven lines on one cheek and stale night air on the other. He shivers. So violently the rats wake up too, tails thumping against the other side of his one-bedroom apart- ment’s wall. Goes back to sleep, hoping he won’t wake up in another city park bench pigeons nipping at his brow, bits of canvas and bristles between his teeth.