When I draw people,
I find myself unconsciously imagine ...

where he came from, where he headed for, what he was thinking, 

what made his lip stiff.  

The wind, or the person?

 

The story, then, was complete.

 

Maybe he was thinking nothing 

and waiting for the photographer pressing his one-day wage.
Holding questions, the photo and my paint stay in static time,
waiting for next eyes imagine new story of him.