The Way In

A fire burns orange and bright in stark contrast against the black Bohemian sky, crackling hard over sounds of a furious pen scratching coffee stained parchment, pausing to stoke flames, reflect inward, and slurp crudely a harsh, smoky brew. Breathing in deep the bitter, caffeinated aroma, choking, expelling forth; returning its essence in a visceral act of vulgar gratitude. With a deep groan his broken body relaxes while a gust of salty air tousles the long, black hair free beneath a headscarf of deep reds and blacks mirroring the gritty color palette so salient in his art and aura. Annoyance sits heavy on his weathered face, knotted like the cut wood burning hot and fierce in destructive release of the flaring ire within. What secrets lie bare in that leather bound journal? What surly words spill forth from fountain ink and fury? Is he looking for a way out? Or, by his own words, does he seek the way in?